Only in Houston
by DanglingBits
Summary: Set in the Ultimate universe, Peter finds a new life after May disowns him during the Clone Saga. Months later he crosses paths with Jessica and things get... heated. Then, they just get dirty. (Peter/Jessica Drew (yes, that one)) Smut, selfcest, and everything in between. Keep out of reach of children.
1. Autonomy Part 1

**Autonomy Part 1**

 **Ultimate Scarlet Spider anyone?**

* * *

Months ago he had been ready to turn 16 and a half. At the time he thought it was important to make that distinction. He should have been telling himself to stay the _fuck_ out of Houston.

While he cussed to himself about the rain, and how much of a nosy bitch Jean Grey was, he was physically hating Houston at night. That is, Houston, at night. At least the seedier parts of it where crooks and criminals couldn't help but to crawl out of the wood work… and where he couldn't help but to crawl to.

He left New York to get away from this, and this is where he ended up? Either the universe had a strange sense of humor or he really was his own worst enemy. New York was _not_ Houston, and while he didn't want to be in Houston or New York, there were worse places. Like Chicago. He'd have his hands full there. BLM, the racial equivalent to Batman in Gotham City, probably wouldn't take kindly to him.

In one hand he held a glass he swiped from that bar he had been to for the last few nights – the one with the stained walls that acted as an impromptu but catcher and the suspicious smelling pooltable. He took a swig as, again, his thoughts turned New York. Aunt May, Clone one and two - affectionately named Tarantula and Quasimodo, the dead ones. Kitty, MJ, Harry, Gwen. …Even the Gwen-Chimera who was technically his daughter, and then the girl version of himself. Life had been getting weird.

He grunted as the alcohol burned his throat, but no one was going to pay attention to a hobo copping a swig on the street at night in this part of town, and that's exactly what he looked like. A hobo. A towering, shabbily dressed and hobo getting drunk in a dank corner in Houston, Texas, his long hair and dark visage keeping people away. If only Aunt May could see him now.

He swallowed. The plan had been to live life without responsibility. But that hadn't worked in the slightest. He only had himself to blame. Instead, he blamed the man who talked too loud.

He had swaggered into the bar, all hot air and aesthetic status with his friends. A slimy looking bastard by appearance who said that Houston was the busiest _port_ in the country. That caught his ears. He didn't know jackshit about Houston, much less he was by the water. Go figure.

They were talking and bragging like they owned the place. Cranked up the radio, demanded drinks, hit on the chicks until they ran out. The man and his friends walked like people who thought they were untouchable, a gang that thought they were big fish in a bigger ocean. He knew the type.

He hadn't intervened, hadn't said a thing. They weren't doing anything wrong unless being obnoxious was a crime. Even then, he was just a citizen, it wasn't his place to do anything about that.

Then he heard it again. The 'port'. So busy. And the _deal…_

He'd been on his fifth glass already and his vision was beginning to haze up, but at least he was learning to handle his liquor. The 3 stooges and company present started to hush up and huddle in soft whispers. The Man Who Talked Too Loud hushed up, whispered about the 'shipment from Mexico'. He talked about the _take_ and the _meet up_ which, coincidentally, was so close to the bar. At the port.

He talked too much, too loud, and too carelessly. He thought he and his friends were untouchable. That was his fault.

That _he_ was here? That was his fault too.

The Man Who talked Too Loud got some more friends, sauntered on down to the docks with his cowboy hat and white slacks before joining another group. Posting himself atop a streetlight as an afterthought, glass in hand, he watched as the groups faced off against each other. Thinking that a choreographed showdown was about to happen,. He berated himself for not bringing popcorn.

Instead, the assembly of men, who were uniformed in their own unique way that screamed unsavory, exchanged brief words. A big Mexican, Puerto Rican, Latin-whatever guy tossed two large, heavy looking bags in the center of their groups and The Man Who Talked Too Loud nudged one of his guys forward, but the squirrely specimen knelt hungrily almost as soon as it hit the ground.

He unzipped it and there was _green._ Green almost bursting from the seams, as if the Hulk had thrown up on paper and they had put it in there. His eyes widened. His wallet groaned and his stomach gurgled for more than just alcohol or something that wasn't a cheap bologna sandwich and soda.

"It's good," the guy, he was going to call him 'Squirrely', said, his twisted face bearing a vaguely Texan accent. "Really good."

He was only eyeballing the money though. He'd had to steal from those who stole, criminals, just to feed himself. Stomach empty and clothes ragged it hadn't been much of a choice, but he never took a lot, just enough. Now this.

He could take that money and live like a king for the rest of his life. He'd never make an iota of it back in Manhattan, trolling for chump change and selling pictures of himself to whoever would buy without asking questions like a camwhore.

It was bloodmoney. Dirty money. _Good_ money, and he needed it more than they did. He deserved that much and they weren't going to doll it out to some charity. This was a drug trade, maybe heavy arms. Where would the money end up otherwise, in lock up? _He_ could put it into circulation, help the… well, that may have been bullshit, but bloodmoney was like guns, only dangerous if used for the wrong purpose.

He wasn't in New York, and he wasn't Spider-Man. He was hungry, homeless, and really fucking tired of bologna sandwiches. He was disowned. What would Uncle Ben think?

Money changed hands. Ben had always wanted a sedan for the family. A bigger house, better food, more books for his nephew. His nephew got a new pair of glasses that Flash broke the next day. That set them back a few months. Bills piled up. Ben was taken by men like these, and not even for money.

He had seen enough.

He checked the perimeter, knowing better to jump into the thick of it. He could handle what they could deal, but gunfire attracted attention, and he didn't want that. No police, not yet. Police meant SHIELD, SHIELD meant Fury, and Fury meant a guilt trip destined for Queens.

Finding a lone guard as he skulked through the darkness, he rapped a staccato rhythm on the side of a rusted, scarlet storage container. The man froze, raised his gun, and waved it around. He didn't move. Smart.

"Yo," he said, affecting a vaguely latin accent, marred by a dry throat and slurred capacity. "I got the stuff!"

The guard wavered, and he knew he had him. A druggie. "What stuff."

"The _stuff_ man! _The stuff!"_ He whispered. "Come on and lets get a quick snatch before anyone _feels_ it!"

The guard looked around before ducking inside. Hearing fingertips and footfalls on metal had him whirl around suddenly, but the last thing he saw were the glowing red eyes.

Unfortunately his fingers pulled the trigger and the gun opened fire. His body slumped against the wall in a heap. But the sound of gunfire ricocheting sounded like war. The rest of the group was alerted, no doubt, but that was okay. That was _satisfying_ in some odd, primal way he didn't want to think about.

The rest came running, all grouped up, formally dressed and street savvy. One examined the place and got snatched up like a teen girl in a horror movie for his trouble. He screamed like one too. They started shooting.

"Hold your fire!" The Man Who Talked Too Loud shouted with his thick Texan accent. "Show y'self! We can _negotiate!"_

 _Negotiate_. It _was_ a smart move, which meant they were more organized than he thought. Smart meant connections. It was twenty of them and one of him. Those odds still weren't in their favor. Of course they'd want to negotiate.

They stared into the dark and saw only glowing red eyes. It said a lot about the man, de facto leader notwithstanding, that he was using his head like that. The eyes were emotional, unblinking, and when they finally did, it was obvious that they had no intention of negotiating.

The screams started shortly after the swarm of spiders skittered out with an audible clattering against the concrete. Some of the perps were dragged into the dark screaming. Others tried to run. None got away.

Bullets proved useless against the swarm of arachnids. Fist crunching bone was more effective. He didn't kill them, chaotic energy or no, he had _enough_ power. The gunfire would already attract the police and dead bodies would leave even more questions in his wake. When they were arrested, if they were, they wouldn't be his problem. If they weren't, they still wouldn't be. If they became a problem… he'd find them.

When all was said and done, the unconscious lumps were in a pile and the money was where they left it. The _money_. Peter spared one look at the two large, heavy looking bags, and then another. His stomach gurgled, memories of sitting shotgun with Benjamin Parker as they rode in his old hatchback past a dealership. The bills, the fact that they had to heat water just to warm the house most times. Ben hunched over the table, unopened late bill payments in front of him.

The hospital bills that came because Flash Thompson was a little, lying bitch. The funeral expenses. The money. _Always with the money._

Twin _thwips_ had both bags them underneath his arm, his long limbs now easily holding so much money that he couldn't imagine what he'd do with it. That was good. It'd be a surprise, and surprises were good. Usually.

The spiders began to disperse after an offhanded comment. He told them not to devour or poison the bodies but didn't know if they listened. If they didn't, it wasn't his fault. As they left they parted around the bodies like water in a brook.

The faint skittering of them into the night quieted considerably and that was when he heard what appeared in its place. It was simple and almost silent, but he heard it. A cricket chirping. A girl's voice. Pleading, helpless.

" _Por favor…"_

He came to the conclusion quickly enough – it was a telepath. With his luck, she'd swap his mind with one of the lumps he'd just dealt with too. Jean Grey had done a number on his trust of psychics and mutants.

He stepped toward the sound, finding the cricket sitting on the side of another large, scarlet storage container. As the light of a building behind him cast his shadow over the insect, the cricket stopped, chirped once, bounced away. The air was heavier, faintly disgusting here. The girl's voice whimpered helplessly inside his mind, _"Por favor,"_ again and again, igniting something primal and protective, annoying and idiotic, but all the same, he tore the doors open. The stench that erupted from the inside made him want to puke. He did.

The 'shipment' was not drugs. He was wrong, he was surprised, and he didn't like surprises anymore.

Inside was a _sea_ of bodies, rot and dead eyes and heated, putrefied flesh, shit, piss, and the humid air of degradation and death. This was also a surprise. A pretty fucking shitty one.

" _Help… please…"_ inside his head, and he didn't like it, didn't like telepaths, and that was all that it could be. The girl was a telepath and that checked off two of four things that amounted to making him uneasy: female and telepathic, save red hair and being a part of the X-Men.

She said again, as loud as she could yet still very weakly, _"Please…"_ , as if it was a foregone conclusion that he would walk away.

Swallowing bile in his throat, he crawled along on the ceiling of the container, grimacing at the slick, wrong feeling of the condensation on the metal ceiling. A hand erupted past the sea of bodies, twitching, and yanked the corpses out of the way like paperweights. They were dead, all of them. He would have helped them if he could have, but… there was nothing he could do now except puke in their honor, which he would have done later if he hadn't already lost his meager lunch.

The girl's hand was weak, frail looking and he knew better to wrench her from beneath hundreds of pounds of flesh. When he reached her he saw that she was huddled in the corner, just enough that she wasn't crushed. Lucky. He grasped her hand, watched as it weakly tried to hold on, and started to tug with the smallest fraction of his strength.

He gently pulled her out and picked her up. Dark hair, latina, young, and covered in horrid things he didn't even want to think about, and smelling just as bad.

She looked up at him weakly. A whisper of a word on her lips, and his distrust in telepaths just got another point in its favor. His predilection for saving people did too, and specifically in the downtrodden, pretty girl type.

" _Hombre… Aran..."_

She passed out.


	2. Autonomy Part 2

**Autonomy Part 2**

* * *

The officer's name was Layton. He was dressed crisp and clean, someone who took their job seriously. Worked the nine-to-five with a smile on their face. Peter could tell he had never been to Manhattan just by looking at him.

Layton stood upright and proud, an officer of the Houston Police Department. On his shoulder, because of the shiny badge, and in his eyes, because of the shine there too, Peter could see that he was a good person. But it was three in the morning and he was running on fumes. He really didn't care if he was or not. A warm bed to sleep in would do him good but instead, he got a bed of chairs at the HMC. The desk clerk gave him a strange look for that, one he didn't bother figuring out. If she had a problem, that was her problem.

Sleeping would have been easier if he wasn't being stared at. He had stormed in with the girl on his back, both of them stinking to high heaven. That had… garnered some attention. None of the bad kind, yet. Whatever her name was, and Peter didn't care enough to admit that he did wonder what her name was, she was being taken care of. The doctor that was taking care of her had told him his name, Donald, in hopes that the homeless looking teenager that smelled like corpses and was covered in blood would give his. It was polite, it was basic manners. May taught him that. Peter didn't say shit.

"I'm not leaving until I get a name, kid," Officer Layton said, and then he yawned. "Which is… pretty bad for me. It's past my bedtime too."

He smiled at Peter, who reclined on a set of chairs against the wall in the receptionist's area of the hospital. Peter couldn't help but snort at that. Months ago he would have been shorter than the officer, who stood at, if he had to guess, 6'1. Now he was far away from the meager 5'6 he had been before, to the point that his feet lazily hung off the bed of chairs. It sucked, but it wasn't the worst place he'd slept in the last few months.

"So…" Layton trailed off just as Peter closed his eyes again, gesturing with a pen and pad. He sounded tired, but not impatient. Peter almost felt sorry for him. "Care to make a statement?"

Peter cracked open a single eye and looked up at the man. He didn't mean to sneer but did anyway, though Layton didn't seem to hold that against him - why did he have to be so understanding? The police in Manhattan shot at him just to do it. He wasn't used to this.

"I told you. I found her by the docks. With the bodies," he said, holding back a yawn that made him look even bitterer than before. He closed his eyes and didn't open them again.

"I heard you the first time," Layton replied easily, "but I can't just accept a statement without a name, you know."

He quirked an eyebrow at that. Good cop, but a liar, even a little white lie. "That's patently untrue," he said, and smirked slightly. "Don't you have anything better to do besides pestering me for my name? Like checking out the container full of corpses? Down by the docks?"

Layton tapped the pad three times. "…I don't, but I'm sure the other officers would. I'm supposed to be off duty. I can call them, if you like."

Peter narrowed his eyes. The last thing he needed was a way for Fury to track him down. It wasn't as if the man couldn't already, but he really didn't need another guilt trip from the General. Two was enough for eight months. "Go ahead," he replied, and closed his eyes, relaxing. "See if I'm here by the time they get here."

A silence followed but he knew that wasn't the end of it. Layton, if his appearance suggested how strong his moral compass really was, was probably stubborn as hell. Peter could appreciate that, but not when it amounted to super sleuthing his identity. He held it extra close knowing _any fucking telepath_ could just yank it out of his head.

"Kid…" Layton said, his tone seriously. "Come on, throw me a bone, here."

Peter cracked open an eye. "You have a husband for that, don't you?"

The officer's eyes widened before they narrowed, half in suspicion and half in defense. "How did you-"

"I didn't, but you two act like an old married couple I used to know."

Layton nodded slowly at the easy, inoffensive look on the teen's face. "Is that a problem?"

"Not really. The husband is dead and the wife disowned me. I-"

The words, slightly bitter and more flippant than anything else, erupted from Peter's mouth before he could catch them. At the same time he could see the receptionist looking on. He shut up. The last thing he wanted was a pity party.

He got it anyway. The officer's face melted into sympathy and the receptionist frowned. Peter looked down after that and refused to look up, knowing that Layton saw his disheveled appearance, his ragged jacket and shaggy hair, and the dirt that spotted bits and pieces of his skin, and the _smell,_ and knew it was because he'd been disowned. He wasn't just a hobo.

Peter scowled, half intent to close his eyes and sleep the attention through and half intent on getting up and leaving. He did his civic duty, or whatever. He was done.

"Where do you live?" Layton asked, in what Peter assumed was the universal tone for speaking to homeless runaways everywhere.

He remained silent. Layton sighed. "Do you have any relati-"

Peter looked at him as if he were stupid, and Layton flinched. It was a dumb question. "No," Peter said. For just a second, he paused. Jessica. Layton looked at him closer at that. "I don't."

"Are you sure?" Layton asked, grinning weakly. It faded when Peter looked up at him, unamused.

"Dead and disowned, remember," He said and it wasn't a lie. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, disowned, and the last was just a technicality he supposed, and she was running around the country doing… something. With a vagina. While she looked like his twin sister.

She actually was his twin sister, he supposed. It didn't feel right calling her or the rest clones, so he thought of them as his twins… or triplets. And what a trifecta they were: one was a girl, one was _fucking insane_ , and the other was a literal human spider with six eyes and arms.

And two of them were dead. The Parker family curse, as he had come to call it, was _still_ in effect. Maybe Jessica would outlive him? Good for her.

"I do remember, thank you," Layton said. He motioned to one of the chairs. "You mind if I sit?"

"I wrote my name on them, so you'll have to pay me in Monopoly money," Peter said, his eyes closed. He opened them to smirk at the agog look on the officer's face. Yeah, he was a good person. "Kidding."

"I knew that. You don't have a marker."

Peter pulled out a dry erase marker he had nicked from a passing doctor an hour earlier and tossed it to the officer. Layton caught it soundly. "I meant about the monopoly money. Sitting is five dollars." The officer gave him a look. Peter shrugged. "I need the money, and-"

Layton dug into his wallet. He pulled out a twenty and held it out to the teen. "Keep the change."

" _I don't want your money,"_ he said, narrowing his eyes. "And I don't need it." He really didn't. Up on the rooftop of the hospital, hidden from sight and webbed up soundly were two bags of instant wealth with his name on it.

Layton pushed the twenty into his chest. "Do I look like I care?"

He sat down a chair away from the one that held Peter's legs and leaned against the wall, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and folded his hands over his lap. "…I'm not paying you back," Peter said.

Layton shrugged.

By now the area had thinned out. Whatever attention the tall teenager had garnered by barging into the hospital with a near dead girl in his arms had dispersed by the fact that he wasn't being apprehended by the local police officer. Peter scoffed to himself. _Houston_.

The girl popped into his mind again. He couldn't hear her voice. That was… good. He could hear her on the way here, in her sleep. It was… Aztec? Whatever it was, she was dreaming of spiders. One voice besides his own in his mind was enough already. Three was a crowd.

He thought about the corpses and their pale, dead, glassy eyes and rotting flesh. They had been alive and were trapped in the storage container like they were less than nothing, just objects. For _money_. For the money that was going to make him a rich man. Uncle Ben would be ashamed of him.

Peter scowled and pulled his jacket over himself. It was undersized and didn't fit him anymore, but was an improvement on how oversized it had been before. At 5'6 it had been gigantic, and now it was just a bit too tight. He couldn't catch a break, but now he wouldn't be broke. Uncle Ben would be so _proud_. He had better be. All of those rotting corpses would have made the inside of the container far hotter than it normally would have been. If the girl was normal, which she wasn't because she could _read_ _minds_ , she would have been baked alive just like the rest. But she wasn't, which meant she wasn't human, and the only person Peter knew of that could read minds and wasn't human was an admittedly attractive redhead who had serious problems with power abuse and personal space.

The girl was a mutant. Much like Layton having a husband, Peter didn't care about that. She could have four extra arms and Layton could have a harem of muscle men and he still wouldn't care. But she _read his mind_ , called him _Hombre Arana. T_ hat was a problem. It was his problem all because he had stuck his head where it didn't belong.

"…Layton?"

"Yeah, kid?"

Peter bit the inside of his cheek. "Is she gonna be alright?"

The officer paused so that he could gather the requisite amount of faith in himself. It was bullshit to Peter but he appreciated it nonetheless. "…Donny's working on her," the officer said. "He might not be able to make French toast worth a darn, but he's a darn good doctor."

Peter didn't say anything.

"You saved her life," Layton said in the silence that followed.

Peter twitched. "I was in the neighborhood."

"Yeah, go figure," Layton said, and with a soft smile he started to drift off. The only thing that Peter heard, aside from the ticking of the clock on the wall and the distant sound of activity in the hospital, was the sound of his heartbeat. The smell of the hospital, sterile and too similar to the dead bodies, ran up his nose.

He adjusted himself. All of the power, none of the responsibility. What a plan that had been. Maybe next time.

* * *

Hospital chairs made awful beds. Peter left.

He felt a little bad about leaving Layton like that, but if the man didn't want to fall asleep in a chair and wake up with back problems, he shouldn't have sat down. That was his fault.

Peter had given the money back.

As much as he wanted to lay low, he had probably done a bad job at it. He was tired, more prone to making mistakes, and the Four Seasons Hotel was open to everyone with the money to pay. Peter had that in spades, so much so that the only look on the receptionist's face was surprise as he handed over two larges in cash, and then another fifteen hundred to get the kitchens to open so he could eat like a pig. Fury would take notice of that. Peter didn't know how exactly, but he would. Still, it was worth it.

By a quarter to six in the morning he was in the most expensive suite that the hotel had, at the very top, luxuriating in the grotesque display of wealth. It was good, but the hot shower felt better. He didn't leave it until his skin was soggy and sterile of the shit that suffused to him last night. and then he had stayed five more minutes after that to scrub every last dead fleck of skin from his scalp. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a shower, but he was never going more than a couple of days without one again. Not with this money.

He stepped out of the shower, wrapped himself up in a towel, and stopped in front of the mirror. Seeing his reflection was something to get used to. He almost didn't recognize himself. He wiped the fog from the mirror and stared at the slightly frowning face that stared right back. Where was Peter Parker?

His face was familiar enough… but also matured. He didn't have any of the 'kiddishness' he had had before, though his youth was still obvious. His hair was long and chocolate brown, hanging to his shoulders and as wet as a fish, but the dissimilarities didn't end there.

He had gained almost a foot in height, and it was obvious from looking at his reflection that he had bulked up. Where before he had been spindly and corded with muscle, his body was cut with them and statuesque, intimidating and visible with a powerful looking physique. No one would look at him and see Peter Parker, sixteen year old. That was just the way he wanted it. No one would look at him and see the boy who got his family killed and endangered, his friend endangered and killed, his ex-girlfriend turned into a monster, and his innocent doubles killed twice over. The one that got disowned.

Well, one was innocent. Quesadamodo, bless his soul, was fucking _insane_.

He wanted to be someone else. He reached into the cabinet and found it stocked with amenities like hair care products and shaving cream and unopened packs of toothbrushes. He paused after he grabbed the scissors and looked one last time at his reflection. Peter Parker, the one who got Gwen Stacy, Ben Parker, dozens of innocent people, and even himself killed, stared back, scowling. Then, the first long lock of hair fell into the sink.


	3. Autonomy Part 3

**Autonomy Part 3**

 **Jessica's problems differ.**

* * *

Though she'd had a motley of problems, Jessica held one above all others. She was a guy. That took a while to get used to, _was_ being kept in mind, and it showed in how long it took her to learn not stand up to pee.

It was still difficult even after learning to sit down to pee, or realizing that the breeze between her legs would never not be there. Or to look in the mirror and not see the boyish body she faintly remembered having, and instead seeing a body that would have had any straight guy staring, including the one she could have sworn she had once been. No guy had her hips, legs, or… her ass. When she was a he she hadn't. Her tits being on the small side wasn't a problem, she didn't care, but she felt a little self-conscious anyway. Still, with a trunk stuffed full of junk, she didn't needs floatation devices. She was bound to capsize anyway.

But having been a guy and now having a body that guys would lust after wasn't the absolute nadir, but it was close; that some girls, few and far between, stared just as much didn't help any either. She was a guy. Was. Had been, once. Though, technically never. So not was, but… Oh, man. Girl.

Jessica Drew had problems. Figuring out where she lay on the spectrum of male, female, or scientific mistake wasn't at the top of the list, but it came around every once in a while.

It got worse. Other than hormonal problems and orientation problems. Jessica wasn't sure which way was up, or which way was down. She adjusted to being a girl fairly quickly because, hey, not having the fat dick she was used to between her legs said a lot. The hormonal problems changed her body. The orientation problems kept her from figuring out which was left, east, or if all roads regardless of where they started would end up at a juncture of a place she wasn't sure she wouldn't be at.

She was a guy, and she had liked girls. It was that simple. But she was a girl now. Did that make her gay? But not really, because she was a girl, so she was technically… straight.

This sucked.

First world problems. When she was Peter Parker the only oversized cock she had to worry about was her own. To not pop a hard on while swinging in the breeze, and to stay in the green with air freshener so May wouldn't smell the heavy scent of flung goo and murdered sperm. She didn't have to deal with _this_ shit.

After leaving New York City, Jessica had no clue what problems she would face, but puzzling out the sexual orientation equation of being a gender-swapped clone was not it. She had to adjust to life without the comforts she had ever known. And without her penis. And had. No home, no friends, no clothes, no school… and no cock. That was important. It was something she spent a lot of time thinking about.

She became a nomad. Away from the east side, she managed to spy a couple of jobs on her way wherever. Wherever turned southwest from Manhattan and it looked like she was on her way to Texas, maybe even Mexico, collecting a bit more than pocket change here and there by working as a waitress, or a courier.

She wasn't Peter Parker though, not really, and she couldn't go back to Queens. …Except she was, biologically? No, that wasn't right… Peter was, definitively, a guy. As clear as she could tell, she was his twin… with his memories. It was better than being an imitation. The only reason that even made _sense_ was because telepaths were assholes. Cassandra Webb joined Jean Grey on Jessica, she was sure Peter would agree his too, shitlist of people to avoid no matter what.

This was Webb's fault. She had taken Peter's memories and supplanted them into his clone's minds, effectively mindfucking them with his _big_ , fat memorabilia, making them less clones and more brainwashed quadruplets. Jessica had enough with telepathic mutants when Jean Grey did that to her, to Peter, but this was something else entirely.

But Webb was dead, near as Jessica could tell, Jessica's 'life' as Peter Parker began to fade. She was grateful. Soon all that was left was a vague image of the people he knew, the things he felt, and knowledge so she was just as smart as he'd been. The memories were distant enough for her to almost believe that she had simply experienced them with him as his inseparable twin, his sister. She'd frequently shake her head at remembering them, got angry on his behalf, and wondered whether she would be the protective older or younger sister for Peter Parker.

It all made it even easier for her to think about it, and Jessica embraced that. She was no clone, though sometimes she would lapse into that line of thinking. She was a sister. Peter's sister.

Without a cock. That was important.

A new problem emerged in the other's absence. While everything was fading fast, Peter wasn't. Peter was always there. It was kind of his fault. He could have wanted nothing to do with her and demanded she never return, but he had wanted her to stay instead. He hugged her, Jessica's first true, genuine memory. After a litany of seeing life through someone else's eyes, her first major one was that one hug and Jessica cherished it, hugging her Peter goodbye.

Her _brother_ , Peter. Not… not _her_ Peter.

But she missed holding her peter. She missed her cock. Being a girl kind of sucked liked that.

It was making an impact Jessica was having a hard time dealing with too. The fact was, Peter was stuck inside her, hard, and… he had a cock, she didn't, and… that… that was a thought.

But it wasn't narcissistic unless she saw it that way. After a while Jessica convinced herself that it wasn't. It wasn't constantly thinking about herself, she was constantly thinking about Peter. Her _sibling._ She was reminiscing about her big brother, and that was alright. He was all she had, it was a sibling consideration that became concern when she realized just what his life was like without her.

Their teenage, superhero life had been shit-city central. It was only natural for someone that wasn't named Peter Parker, namely his sister, to worry about Peter Parker. Jessica took to that quickly to get away from the fact that whenever she thought about him, she felt heated. _Weird_. More than a little confused.

She hoped he was safe. Sane too, after finding out that he had clones. He watched them die. Safe was good, but alright would be enough. And that he had punched Eugene Thompson in his nose since she wouldn't be able to any time soon.

After she sorted all of that out, being a clone wasn't so bad. As much as she wanted to find Otto Octavius and punch his teeth into his throat for what he had done, she had to admit he'd done a good job. No periods for one, that was great. Otto was really alright. He tortured a fifteen year old boy that was her brother, gave him a reason never to go to a dentist again, but he was just swell. Really.

Life as a girl _was_ remarkably easier. She wasn't made fun of, got better tips, better reactions, easier dates, likely because of her long hair, widening hips, and the new junk she had gotten in her ass as hormones worked their magic on her technically teenaged body, was exacerbated by her barely increased height, which itself made her wonder what exactly had been done to her in vitro.

Dates hadn't been easy. She wasn't surprised. They came easy, but there was always one thing in the way, namely she wasn't exactly sure where she was on the spectrum. Jessica soon learned that, outside of a glancing attraction, there just wasn't anything after that. Not for guys, not for the scarce few girls. She tried. The girl/boy next door redhead types, blondes, and a particular type of brunettes, after learning that Peter, sometime after her 'conception', had started to date Kitty Pryde.

If he was attracted to her type, that meant Jessica was, right? Wrong. She couldn't stop herself from asking what Peter would have liked about them. Likely he wouldn't have liked the guys. Punk, alternative, or bookish and cute, the next door type. Spunky, maybe? She… didn't know what Kitty Pryde was like. What did Peter see in her, really?

It got worse. Looking at girls she'd ask herself if Peter would have liked that dress, those pants. At first it was to gauge whether or not she'd like it. She was that confused, but then… it got worse. _Peter_ would be easier to talk to, she knew him. Hell, she had been inside him and he in her. …Technically. No one knew them better than they knew each other. Talking to him would have been more comfortable than talking to anyone, hugging him after a date wouldn't have felt so alien. She knew from experience. She'd rather hug him than mumble on meaningless dates, feeling awkward while she talked to a meek, bookish brunette boy who loved science and happened to be a photographer, or a meek, bookish, brunette girl who had a bent for chemistry and happened to take pictures.

Every date ended in a one sided failure. She felt bad, but soon, more than anything, she felt twitchy and anxious. She _was_ a teenager. Physically she was, chronologically, she was little more than a baby, but that was a whole other pot of weird to not think about.

She was hormonal, superpowered, and a virgin. Jessica didn't particularly care about that, and Peter had resigned himself early on to a teenaged life of careful celibacy so he wouldn't literally bust ass and pussy when he passed his genes on. Jessica was fucking horny, and without the option to date, or to find a good one, all she had was her hands. Then the toys. Then toys weren't enough. Great.

Her body was in heat, her pussy was tight, aching, dripping, needing, and that was weird _and_ hot because having a pussy and filling it felt so fucking _good_ , but she couldn't, wouldn't, and was unable to cross the line and 'be' with someone else.

She suffered. Thought of what Peter would do and knew he would have fucked his hand with his oversized dick and then hid the result from May. He did it constantly and so that's what Jessica did. With the lack of fat cock, all she could do was reminisce about that same fat cock in her hand while she rubbed herself raw. She was thinking about him too much, in the wrong way, and she _definitively_ didn't like that, but it was hard not to when the thought of each pearly, gooey, alabaster rope smacked against the wall with an audible splat. Those memories of her being his inseparable sister? Took an odd turn. She was watching him do it and smiling as he rushed to clean up before their Aunt found out. Helping him clean up and… the oxytocin release in her brain made her pretty creative in how she helped.

Maybe Webb and Octavius had done something to implant a need to perpetuate the 'species'. It made sense, they made clones of Peter to make more of him. Why make a female clone if not to make more 'naturally'. But why was she the only one? _Was_ she the only one? Or just a one-off, a test?

Were there more of her? She imagined a scene straight out of Toy Story 2. Stuck in a building and finding rows upon rows of Jessica Drews, all fat assed and tiny titted, waiting to be unboxed.

It was enough to kill the mood for a short while. Only for a short while. Soon, with months of frustration and thoughts of Peter, she'd be bent over in whatever apartment or motel she managed to pay for, plowing herself stupid in front of her cheap laptop. Remembering familiar hands over her body and familiar masculine groans in her ear. Her hands were too soft, too delicate, her groans too light and womanly to be the same as his. Of course she wasn't Peter, his grip was tighter than iron, his voice deeper and so much more pressing. Thinking of being one of many female clones didn't even bother her as she rocked against the wall while she thought of that, of riding a familiar face while she sucked on her on her fellow clone's tits.

It was only when she imagined being strung up and taken to pound town on a webline did she indulge the possibility that she _might_ have a problem. When she imagined stringing Spider-Man up and taking him to 'Plow-Your-Spider-Sister's-Pussyville' after sitting on his face and making him forget about Kitty whathertits and Mary whoseherface while another female clone bent over, spread her cheeks, and waited for her turn to get inseminated by her overly loving 'brother' like her 'sister' was being, she realized that yes, she really did have a problem.

She, Jessica Drew, wasn't a guy. She was incestuous. And that was fantastic.

Apparently it was too fantastic, because it didn't hurt her fantasies so much as it did help them take a turn toward Japanese-cartoon-porn; that was the only thing that could have two twins fucking in the house while avoiding their Aunt. It was a recurring theme for Jessica to her stumble to the dinner table with his gooey wad clogging her pipes and his balls being empty, and May Parker being oblivious.

It was all the more reason for her never to return to New York City. Yeah, Jessica knew which camp she belonged in now. Not the straight camp, not gay camp, or even the fat-sweaty-dick-stuck-in-spandex-all-day camp. It was a mix of all three because she liked fat, sweaty dick, but only her own… her brother's, she wasn't a guy, she was a girl, but if sticking her face between her own legs while she got his fat cock up her ass was a possibility, she was there. As it was, she only succeeded in getting her face between her legs and her mouth on her pussy, but that… wasn't bad either. She considered changing her name to Narcissus because she felt like one when she imagined bending over and shaking it for Peter so they could improve their 'sibling bond'.

While she plowed herself, soon enough doing so while looking up videos of him as she rocked against a dildo mounted on the wall, Jessica _did_ hope he was doing well. She hoped he was happy and safe and not in a relationship still, because if she came back… she'd screw his life up. By screwing him up. By screwing him. Possibly webbing him to a wall and then _making_ him take her to Pound-Your -Spider-Sister's-Pussyville. Freud would have a fucking field day with her. Behold true believers: Spider-Incestia.

When she was done she filed the… thoughts away. Avoided them. It was just an odd fantasy for an odd girl, who happened to be the clone of a guy who could climb on walls and toss cars like paperweights. Odd begot odd, it was to be expected. They were never away for long though. Thankfully, it wasn't possible to steal your 'brother' from his 'girlfriend', right? Well, girlfriend, no quotes. Especially when he's- you're him?

Jessica didn't think so, and didn't think there was any harm in fantasizing about that. It was just… fantasies of autonomous, incestuous masturbation. Otherwise, life as a clone was good. Being Jessica Drew? Fucking _great._


	4. Autonomy Part 4

**Autonomy Part 4**

* * *

"You alright back there?"

Jessica looked up to just in time to meet the taxi driver's eyes. She looked away quickly. "Fine, fine," she said, not really wanting believing it herself. "I'm fine."

She must have done a good job. The driver seemed to buy it. His accent sounded like a mix of Texan and Jersey as he said, "Right. Just asking. Not every day you get a girl calling you to drive her into Houston of all places."

"It was a bit out of we-" she stopped herself. "Walking range from Baytown." That wasn't true. For her. Her method of walking would have attracted too much attention though since it wasn't walking at all.

"You from Baytown?"

Jessica watched as they began to roll across a bridge. She could see the city in the distance. The sight made her stop breathing for a few seconds before she realized it. "Huh?"

"Baytown, you from there?"

"N-No, no I'm…" she shook her head to stop staring at the buildings in the distance. There was something about them, something about getting so close to them. "I'm from… all over. Was there for a bit. Working, you know."

"Girl your age shouldn't be working. Got a little girl your age. Should be out enjoying life, going to college, finding yourself, all that millennial hutzpah."

She smiled a bit. "Just wasn't uh… wasn't for me. Things were getting crazy, had to get away from my… family for a bit," she said, trying not to cringe.

She watched as the driver nodded in understanding. "Gotcha. Teen angst, what a bitch."

Jessica sighed. "Not exactly."

She glanced out the window to watch them drive just past the port and rolled down the window. The Houston air was hot, humid, and downright un-New Yorker this early in the morning, but she was too. She blamed Peter. It was just past ten, her watch said, and she spent an extra hour in bed because of him. Her hands sat rigidly on either side of her thighs, carefully away from between her legs, and she looked at the bulge of her wallet – her _only_ bulge in that area. She thought of Peter again.

"Oh man," she muttered to herself trying to calm down. It had the opposite effect. Her mind was just as good as Peter's at doing mental acrobatics and coming up with something to say. It paired 'man' with 'Spider-Man' to 'Peter'. She did hope he was doing alright, what with the clones… their 'sibling's' deaths, Aunt May, and there had been the thing with Shield, and the chimera…

"The _chimera,"_ she whispered. "Oh, _man…"_

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

She changed her view before she started to work herself into a frenzy of worry for him. It wouldn't have been the first time. She took a deep breath of air. Manhattan air never smelled as clean as this. _Houston._ This was it. _This_ was her new start. Away from everything. From the _chimera_. From Peter.

 _'And the award for sister of the year does not go to…'_

It was a little silly she had to be so far away from Manhattan to feel comfortable but it was better this way. This was the only way. She needed to be as far away as possible but Baytown had been too quiet, and Houston was just supposed to be a pass-through to Mexico. Now though…

 _'Mexico… still an option I guess,'_ she thought. _'The farther away the better.'_

She opened her eyes and almost missed it, but she managed to see them anyway. Beneath the bridge, down at the port she saw the small flecks of people between the storage containers. Men in blue. The cops. And the gray mats laid out in order like dominoes. Bodies in blue and bodies in bags. Her mouth opened in horror.

The cab kept driving, the scene got smaller as it went further away, further into Houston where she was supposed to feel better. Now she had a lead weight in her stomach. She managed to catch a glimpse of a man climbing onto the storage containers. The cops noticed him and then…fire. Flames erupted everywhere just as the cab drove out of sight.

The driver jumped as a loud explosion erupted went off and Jessica felt her eardrums pop, either from the sound of the explosion or from the driver shouting, "The hell was that?"

Another explosion, loud enough to shake the car and her teeth, went off with the sound of gunfire and screams beneath the bridge. Jessica grit her teeth and made a snap decision. She was moving already and ducked down, removing her shirt until she remembered where and who she was. "Guy shooting fire," she said tersely. "Killing cops. Stop the car," she added.

"What?" he exclaimed.

"Stop the car!"

From the rearview the driver gave that look that she thought only Manhattanite cabbies could give. The cab began to speed up. "This ain't New York lady Houston don't got no _Spider-Man_ to come swoopin' down!"

Jessica stopped for a second. He had a point. She didn't know if she wanted to groan or laugh.

Rolling down the window, she dug through her wallet and spilled most of the contents onto the backseat before standing. "Thanks for the ride," she said, and jumped from the window of the car.

* * *

There was fire everywhere and Jessica was almost positive that it had something to do with the guy who was shooting fire from his hands. She wasn't totally sure since the fire looked more like… serpents. It was rude to assume. If she were being assumed for a guy who shot fire from his hands _instead_ of a guy who shot webs from his wrists, she'd be downright offended. The difference between them was minimal and was and wasn't between her legs. She wasn't Johnny Storm's long-lost transgender sister like tall, Mexican, and flaming-ugly over there.

It had been a while since she had done this sort of thing. Busting up small time thugs along the east coast on her way to wherever, that turned out to be Houston, was one thing. Not once had she tangled with some psycho hopped up on their own super-power. New York seemed to have an almost undisputed monopoly on those types.

She doubted herself. Jessica was used to seeing Peter doubt himself like she was forced to watch it and wonder why. Now that she was faced with the reality that it would be her first bust up since Octavius, since not having Peter with her, she felt it all settle into her stomach. Wasn't nice.

She heard her heartbeat between her ears as she fell, jumping over the railing of the- freeway, highway, was and over the open water. Her hand snatched her mask from her pants because her pockets were too small to hold it, and her natural dexterity was there to rip off her shirt and reveal the scarlet spider suit underneath, like a dime store Superman that didn't know how to fly. Or in her case… Supergirl.

She saw the world in slow motion, was fast, but gravity was the great equalizer of everything. Unless you could fly. Jessica really wished she could fly, or glide, like baby spiders could. Instead she fired twin, thin weblines from her fingertips and yanked her mask on haphazardly. She pulled hard and zipped straight into the action, landing on a storage container to the pyro's left just when he was about to turn one of the boys in blue into a pigroast. There went her window for getting her clothes off.

She knew how that sounded and cupped her hands over her mouth. "Hey, flamebrain!" She yelled, catching his attention. His fist was clenched and covered in flame but he didn't care, and that was not a good sign for her. Then, the flame shrunk so it barely covered his knuckles.

He turned to face her, looking… more confused than her pride was comfortable with. "What are _you_ supposed to be?" He asked in thickly accented English.

Mexico, she realized with a slight 'ah'. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to go there. Who knew what other kind of nutzo's they had?

"I'm the gu- ah," she took a look at herself and deflated a little. This was not going to be as easy as she first thought it would.

From the edge of her view she saw the bodies, and not just the ones in bags. Jessica swallowed and her eyes narrowed. Her legs were unsteady, It had been a while since she was in a fire-fight but if there was ever a time for it of course she wouldn't expect it. Those poor people certainly hadn't.

"I'm the girl that's about to rain on your flaming parade," she said and was surprised at how bad ass that sounded.

His eyes widened. Jessica followed them to her chest. _Well._ At least someone thought she had something worth looking at up there. " _Escarlata Arana…"_ Pyro whispered. He grinned. Her spider-sense went off a second later. "I always wanted to fight a superhero…"

Then she was almost on fire.

Jessica's spider-sense blared and she bent back at a ninety degree angle to avoid a stray gout of fire headed for her face. She acted on instinct and zipped at the most immediate threat: the big guy with the blue hoodie, dark hair and tattoos everywhere that thought she had a reputation for entertaining people like him, or maybe he was just that desperate. She was a walking nobody-special and that was all the action he was going to get.

A special menu item that included slamming into him hard enough to make a linebacker curl on the ground like a little baby and cry for his madre. Jessica's shoulder rammed into him, straight in the chest, and managed to flip over and away just before the gunfire started.

A haze of heat ballooned outward and her mouth was suddenly dry. Her hair felt dry and… Jessica looking to her long brown locks and screeched as the edges were lit by small fire.. _"Man!"_

The gunfire continued without effects. Cops, she realized. They were all around her. She hadn't gotten a chance to get completely change, her jeans were still on over her costume, her shirt barely on while she jumped around in a skin-tight suit, but it probably said something about Houston that a sizeable portion of the HPD was focused on shooting the hot guy on center stage. Jessica was playing this by ear without a real idea of what she was doing. Just like Peter did in Queens. She hoped it went better than that.

The officers darted to cover and screams were everywhere. Jessica watched the bodybags begin to warp and melt over the corpses inside of them. Her stomach turned. Of the cops, some were snuffing out fires of their own and some just… were barely moving. She charged again, right into the thick of it and broke out into a full body sweat with three layers of clothing on, It was so hot she could barely breathe as she rammed into the pyro like a linebacker on steroids.

Her spider-sense blared. She moved by instinct and pure, unadulterated desire to not be a sundry alive as the guy reeled back a bit. His attention was on her now. Too steady to be a normal person. Too tough. Normal people didn't shoot fire from their hands either. _'Good conclusion, Drew!'_

Coiled snake shaped streams of fire erupted from his hands and shot at her. They swirled in arcs too unnatural to be anything but unnatural and Jessica did her best to swerve through them, jumping through rings of fire like that video of the Johnny Blaze guy Peter watched once. She landed over the pyro in a backflip, her legs wide and tense.

She was going to easy. He was still standing. She hit him like a roided up linebacker and he _took_ it like a roided up linebacker. _Mexico._ She made a mental note to stay out of there. He was grinning too. That was bad.

She swallowed and crouched. The air around him was visibly warped and the storage container he was on was melting. If she needed another bad sign she hadn't asked for that was it.

Another sign, her spider-sense started to go off again. " _Oh crap."_

More fire-snakes lanced at her. Jessica darted into the air barely above them, leaving a fading kick across the pyro's face that would have left a normal human knocked out cold. His head snapped to the side but normal human's _didn't shoot fire._ Snakes. A small bruise was quick to form on his chin and his gin got wider. She really was out of practice.

Fire collected around his hands, and as if that wasn't crappy enough, his eyes started to glow red. If _that_ wasn't crappy enough, the smallest points of it were too close to blue to be comfortable. Johnny Storm, from what she could remember, couldn't concentrate fire like that. This guy was a walking stove-top lighter.

 _'Crap'._

Jessica did the only thing she could do. Then the gunfire started again, a salvo of bullets that made her stop or become a pincushion. She watched as the police fired from a distance and the bullets simply _melted_ before they could touch him. It was nice to know for once police weren't shooting at her or her twin.

She did the second thing she could do. Buy time for the police and information for her. She crossed her arms, waved, and doffed an imaginary hat, feeling stupid as all hell while she did it.

"Well, I think we got off on the _wrong_ foot Mr…" She trailed off, waiting for a name that wouldn't come. "My name is- well, anyway, I uh… like your hoodie? Blue, that's nice, very distinctive. I was thinking about getting a blue hoodie but, obviously, it's taken, so- _whoa!_ "

A dart shaped projectile of fire burned the air by her head,. He definitely wasn't the type for small talk. Another small flame flicked into existence on the tips of his first two fingers much like webbing from her own spinnerets. Kind of uncomfortable looking.

"I always wanted to fight a superhero," he grinned showing off crooked, badly formed teeth. "But you're a waste of my time, _imitación_."

"Rude! I'm _totally_ a superhero! It's just that- the market isn't really right this time of year. But _I_ have always wanted to meet someone with…" she leaned forward, as if that would help her see him better despite the fact that there was a good twenty yard distance between them. "..Gecko face paint?"

" _Axolotl!_ "

 _'Salamander,'_ Jessica thought. "Gesundheit- _eep_!" She ducked to the side as a ball of flame sailed past her, the brief movement allowing her to see the retreat of the police officers. She kind of wanted to follow them.

"You pathetic, _ignorant_ American! _I_ _mitación_! _La arana panocha!"_

"Rude language is immediate grounds for a _verbal warning!_ And sexual harassment!"

So, he had something against people who didn't understand his culture. Jessica didn't judge. She did take offense at being called an ear of corn spider. " _No habla es Americano amigo?"_ she shouted and cartwheeled to the side to avoid another fire-snake. It looked more like a basilisk. " _Dude!_ It's _totes_ fine, I'm cool! You're cool! _We're cool_!" She ducked. "Okay, we're not cool! But don't push your overwhelming hot, sweaty man-love onto me! I have enough of my own to deal with!"

A wall of fire pushed out at her. Thinking quickly, Jessica flipped back and ducked behind the container she stood on, cringing as a fireball slammed into it and spread around the metal. The metal was superheated but fortunately not enough to reach her. She heard it groan as it began to cool almost instantly.

The air was hazy and dry everywhere. He burned every speck of water out and she was feeling it. Her mouth was drying quickly and sweat was soaking her all around. Her jeans were a heat trap and her suit a punishment. Why couldn't she get arid, Houston air without the flaming homosexual trying to kill her? And the innocent police officers too.

"Dude!" She screamed. "America is the land of the free and home of the-" another ball of fire interrupted her. "Not cool!"

It was like he was beginning to enjoy it. The next volley came at a speed like he was playing catch instead of trying to burn her alive. If he started to sing 'fried bit of spider' in Spanish she was going to lose it.

Jessica ducked another container once more and dipped to the side. Out of sight, she scanned for something heavy to throw, and anything but the containers themselves would have sufficed. She could lift one, she knew she could… _hoped_ she could, but wasn't about to chance it.

All she found was a shopping cart. A fucking shopping cart. " _Fuck… my life."_

With a flick of her fingertips, webbing erupted from her fingertip spinnerets that just had to be a big, fat dick in mother nature's mouth. Her day had taken a turn and she wanted to be back I bed, fantasizing about Peter's big, fat dick in her mouth but she couldn't remember the last time she got what she wanted. She grimaced. The heat wasn't helping her and the full body outdoor sauna made it hard to think while she just wanted to get naked.

She yanked the cart to her. It was better than wood, and much better than pelting Pyro with spit balls because that's what her webs would probably be to him. She reserved that for last. She could use the cart like a gigantic yoyo, knock him off his guard. If all else failed maybe hawk spitting him would snuff him out.

Acting quickly she wrapped the entire thing in webbing and left a long webline from it like a fishing pole. She took a deep breath, positive that she wasn't going to end the day without a blister or two, and dove into she dove from cover to cover in a serviceable imitation of bullet timing that was still pretty awesome to her.

The cart came with her and in mid-air she lobbed it at the flamboyant rave dancer's wet dream with slightly more of her strength. " _Fine_ , so you don't want to meet in the middle. Do you like puns? You know why you're big, hard to look at, and on fire? You're Burning, Man!"

It hit harder than she expected and sent him flying. Jessica yanked it back like a yoyo, catching it soundly in her hand. The Burning Man, sailed back into the chainlink fence that surrounded the docks and tumbled to the ground. "La panocha _that_ El Homo Simpson!" She shouted in badly accented English.

The cart, though… She looked at the cart in surprise. The webbing caught fire but hadn't diminished in the slightest even as the fire tried to eat away at it. She needed something to get in close after seeing what happened to the bullets. Her webbing was that something. It was _fire-retardant!_ She was going to cover him in her sticky stuff.

It wasn't the kinkiest thought to go through her mind in the last day, but it was the first one centered around anyone but Peter.

The Burning Man wasn't down for long. Jessica was moved quickly. She had done some damage and thrown him for a loop, and save for getting in close and putting him to sleep like a big, flaming… whatever the Spanish word for dog was, El Barko, maybe. This was her only shot at kissing El Homo with her fists. Real damage.

His powers obviously differed from the Human Torch's, but fire had a universal weakness. Even if it didn't the steam when the two met would be a good cover. She leapt up and surveyed the area. No hydrants, no hoses. Not even a cup of coffee from the cops. _Nothing_. She'd have to improvise… but how?

 _'Hawk spit,'_ Jessica felt like slapping herself. She was at the _port! 'Spit. Water!'_

Leaping away to cover, when she touched the ground she ripped open a hole in the webbing. It took some effort, was more durable than she expected, even for her. She had to claw and tear at it to get enough of a hole done. The cart now an oblong container, and while it wasn't exactly what she needed, it was all she had.

Jessica looked at the dirty, dingy, unhygienic water. Suspicious water. _'Crap.'_ She dove in and made a note to write to the local congressman about cleaning up the docks.

She came up when the sac was full and she was extremely soaked, leapt from the water holding the cart by the headsized opening she'd torn in it and covered it with more webbing.

It wasn't a good plan. She doubted it would work. The cart wasn't for him, it was for her, like the biggest container of questionable lubricant ever. Aside from webbing her hair up and giving herself webbing-boxing gloves and slippers over her melted shoes it was all she had. Her underwear was soaked, not even in the fun, extremely shameful masturbatory way she was used to by now and her pants were dripping in the same un-fun way.

And her wallet was still on her. Jessica was afraid to dig into her pants and see the soaked, last few bills she had to her name. _'Shit.'_

She leapt to the storage container the Flaming Gecko had been on. It was almost completely sunken in from his weight and the heat. It got worse. He was gone. That didn't improve her mood. " _Shit._ "

She was out of dry money and soaked with dingy port water. She was as sexually frustrated as a teenager is supposed to be and wanted to fuck her brother. _And_ she let the bad guy get away. _"Shit!"_

She was fucked. Now all that was left was to take her frustrations out the man who flamed so hard he would probably turn the burning man festival into one big gay pride parade. At least before she was on the street begging for nickels.

She should have stayed in Baytown. What could _possibly_ be for her in Houston that could justify this?


	5. Family Reunion Part 1

**(Awkward) Family Reunion Part 1**

 **This shit only happens in Houston.**

* * *

Peter managed to grab a few hours of sleep before waking up with a problem. Wet, sticky sheets. Jesus car-tossing Christ.

Two and a half boxes of pizza down with only crap on TV, he decided it was a better idea to sleep in the bed he paid for instead of yet another night sleeping on a couch. TV wasn't an option when one channel was talking about the time Spider-Man and the X-Men got hunted live on TV, a Jerry Springer rerun about runaways reunited with their families was on, and some late night talkshow host was taking calls about the red monster that had drained someone's cousin a few months back.

PBS and the Discovery Channel were airing two completely different documentaries about spiders. He watched those and managed to learn about some select species that weren't as solitary as others. Not all females ate the males, some males even lured and ate the females, and daddy long legs weren't actually spiders.

Yeah, sleep had been the best option.

The bed was king-sized and soft. Memory foam or something, nice and cool in the Houston humidity. The bedroom itself was nearly three times the size of his cramped, messy one back in Queens. The entire suite was half the size of his house. Made going to sleep difficult but he managed it after curling up next to one of the bags. Wasn't until later he realized it wasn't the money bags. It was the one that had his makeshift costume in it, along with the stuff he managed to take with him from Queens.

He dreamt about the usual stuff, more vivid because of the TV. It really will rot your brain. He remembered the night Gwen died, the thing that came back with her hair, her body, but not her face. It was so unreal he almost managed to write it off as just a nightmare. Then he remembered that his life was so shit that something like that, a pretty blonde with the face of a monster, actually existed.

MJ was there too. Kitty, Dead-Gwen and not-Gwen, May, and the Black Cat - just his luck that most of his problems revolved around women.

MJ and Kitty were leaving because he was going to get them and their families killed. The X-Men and Anna Watson. Dead-Gwen pointed at not-Gwen and said it was his fault, then not-Gwen ate her. Black Cat vomited on her breasts, gave him a derection and the finger. May just shook her head, slammed the door in his face.

It got weirder. The last thing he dreamt about took a hard turn from being in Houston again, swinging through the city half naked. He wasn't alone and that should have been his first clue. Managed to see long brown hair when his was down to a buzzcut, then he was in the hospital.

Layton's head was twisted back 180 degrees and his neck was charred to a crisp. The doc, Donald, was a flaming corpse on the ground outside of some room with a half open door. Inside was covered in webs and spiders and the mutant girl was curled up on the bed. Trying to make herself small enough to disappear. She looked scared.

Then it disappeared and it was like she was looking at him. _"Hombre Arana?"_ She asked. Her eyes were white, then they weren't. "…Peter?"

Then it changed. He was in a bed, then he was on a ceiling, then a wall. Legs wrapped around him, small, hand-mauled and hickeyed tits pressing against his chest, his hands pressed tight into the meat of the softest ass he ever felt – only one since the Black Cat – and Gwen – his dick balls-deep inside someplace it had never been – and even in the dream he took a moment to realize that he had a murderous chimera of a technical kid – that thought it was his best friend – and he was still a virgin.

"Not anymore," she said, squeezing her legs tight around him. Her arms held him close and her tongue was in his mouth. Hazel eyes, long brown hair all over her flushed red face. "Makes two of us." She came in close, trailed her tongue from his cheek all the way up to his ear. He was about cum and started to pull away, but she tightened her hold on him. Her legs did too. "Come inside, okay? Please."

He woke up. Not a single night in silk sheets and he blew his load. Peter wasn't sure which was worse, that his dick was trapped in sticky sheets or that he knew exactly who he was dreaming about. It wasn't the first time, but it was the most… vivid. Recent. Right in the hotel suite, too. With Jessica. As if he didn't have enough problems.

Probably the best thing about it was that it meant he was going to take another shower. Like he needed an excuse.

* * *

Four showers later – two of them he spent blowing a wad over the shower wall, christening the facilities his dirty money bought – the sun was fully up. The other two were spent after waking up the same way as before. Jessica on her hands and knees, her fat ass jiggling while he pinned her to the bed, her _screams_. Her moaning his name, him growling hers, the sounds and- well, he woke up.

The second time had been on the side of a building. By the last time he stepped out of the shower his testicles hurt and he had no more sheets to sleep under.

Used to be that he dreamt about MJ. Then it was Gwen. Then it was both. Not together though – with Gwen's standoffish attitude and MJ's kind, understanding one… made a good scenario for them both to have a tite-a-tite, breasts pressed together while they argued over which he'd like better.

When Cat came along it was about peeling her out of that latex suit of hers, sliding between her cheeks while she said something about family jewels and milk.

Then Kitty came along and all he could think about was getting a blowjob under the breakfast table or fucking her through the wall while the rest of the X-Men wondered why she was half in, half out and crosseyed, not knowing he was all the way in and she was crosseyed because his balls were against her pussy and he was in her ass. Just simple shit for a teenaged boy.

Then Jess came along. It started out innocent, awkward at first. That hug they shared turned into a kiss on the cheek, and he would get hard. She'd look down, look up at him and smile. He got harder when she did. He didn't want to know how the girl version of him made her bedroom eyes make him get even harder but they did, and then he'd wake up.

In the months that went by it got worse, or better, but definitely worse for his boxers and whatever cover he managed to curl up under. His balls learned to accommodate it to the point that his refractory period was nil and his nuts were nearly the size of his fists. Jessica's arms would be wrapped around him, hugging him close after not seeing him in so long.

Then she'd start pressing her lips to his neck. She'd be in the skimpiest shit he could imagine, which happened to be her costume with a hole cut out at the crotch and two at the chest. It wasn't the most imaginative thing for his dream girl-clone/sister to wear, but it did its job. No dream ever ended without him balls deep in her and her begging him to give her a baby, at which point May would open a door or step into view and say it wouldn't be welcome in her house.

He threw the sheets into the corner, not sure what to do with them or if the place had a laundry room. He sure as hell wasn't about to take sticky sheets through the hallway and drop them in front of room service... not yet at least. It had been months since he slept in a real bed, never before underneath silk sheets. He wasn't about to give that up.

Deciding he needed to get away from it all – the room, the posh display of wealth, the bags of money- just the place where he managed to ruin sheets while he dreamt about fucking his technical sister, actually. And to forget the nightmares - for once dreaming about him and Jessica, the two of them fucking like rabbits wasn't the worst part of the night. He just managed to dream about the nicest couple he'd met since the Parkers lost their head of house, being killed. That was nice.

He walked out onto the balcony and admired the view… then he jumped. Then he realized he was still naked and had to go back for some pants.

His webshooters had dried up months ago from disuse but he didn't need them anymore. Now, Jess wasn't the only one with a big fuck you to mother nature. His didn't come out of the fingertips like hers did – Otto must have been high when he thought of that – but they did come out of his wrist, complete with a bunch of muscles that shouldn't exist in the human wrist. Peter was just grateful it wasn't coming out of his ass.

The webs came out with enough force for him to know that his strength wasn't limited to his arms. It fired like a dart to one of the buildings and attached easily, just like the webshooters. The feeling of it coming out was weird though, ticklish, but web-swinging came back to him like geometry and soon he wasn't thinking of anything even while he swung through early morning traffic at streetlevel.

All of the power, none of the responsibility. With the buzzcut he barely looked like Peter Parker enough to worry about anyone connecting the dots.

Houston was fucking hot though and he needed to stop. Maybe he was out of shape – it had been months since he did this – or maybe it was something in the air. It was so humid he wondered if every person in the city was sweating and it was all coming up. He didn't doubt it.

He stopped on the side of a building, not giving a fuck who saw. Managed to see something weird – weirder than Jessica climbing off of him and cleaning the fuck-juices off his cock while she played with herself, at least. A tarantula (he thought of his 'little brother' and cringed) being carried away. By a wasp. For some reason it made his head tingle. Creepy.

He didn't have a long time to wonder about it as some jackass in a loud car turned the corner. The bass from their speakers was so loud Peter felt it in his teeth. He looked down at the street and the car was a hummer, and not just because of the make. Loud engine, love letter to overcompensation and alternative methods to pleasing a woman. And right in It's path was a little old lady crossing the street.

He waited for her realize that but she kept plodding along. Peter turned his nose up. It wasn't his problem and he couldn't make it in time. He had been a man of science once. Being homeless didn't lend itself to cracking open a textbook or anything, but this was Darwinism. Harsh but true. Old bitch better turn into Sonic because that car was going fast.

Then he got a reminder of why having the mutant girl's voice in his head was a shitty idea. "You think she has kids? A nephew? Students, family? Just anyone who cares about her at all. Maybe a down on their luck runaway without anyone in their life that _really_ needs that old bitty?"

She could have been a wolf in old lady's clothing for all he knew.

"Oh, completely. There's always a chance. She could also be oblivious and old. Like, if she has a… nephew, or something, and his secret is pretty obvious but this oblivious lady has no clue… and dies like that. Kid would be _heartbroken._ Maybe he already lost someone. Or multiple people, I don't know. But it's not your problem right? Not your _responsibility._ "

Jean Grey would have been better than this shit.

If he was inclined to be stupid today, save someone, the car was going too fast for him to just swing down and get the dumb, old, slow moving bitch out of the way. Need to improvise. He'd have to jump off the building and-

He was already falling. The plan he managed to make was to essentially stomp to the ground, get up, and tackle the old bat out of the way. Didn't know if he could take it but he knew there was no way he'd get there in time otherwise. He'd been thrown through brick walls and stone banisters. Could take a hit. Maybe there was a chance he didn't end up a cripple that would eventually tell his daughter of the 'old days' where he jumped around in spandex.

"You _fascinate_ me," the other voice in his head said. He hit the street like a cannonball and it broke. He didn't.

Wheeled around to get the geriatric out of the way in less than a second, but he had been right. The car was going too fast. His spider-sense blared. Wasn't fast enough, not to take that chance. Old bitch was an old bitch, but she probably had family. Family that needed her.

" _Fuck!"_ He shouted, outstretching his arms. He didn't shut his eyes because if he died, he was taking Tarantula and Quasimodo and he was haunting the old bat. Wanted her to see his eyes when he died.

He heard the engine and then the horn, then he saw white. His feet dug into the street and he couldn't breathe, like being beat up on by Flash and his goons and tossed into a locker again.. Been a while since he felt that. Then, he got pissed.

He gripped the sides of the car and pushed back, lifted it like a paperweight. Every good and ugly mug that ever thought it was _funny_ to push him around, every bully and thug that tried driving off after ruining someone's life, taking their _family._ The corpses at the port, May, _everything._

Wheeled the car around without much effort, muscles flexing as he tore through the chassis and hefted the metallic piece of crap up and over in the air, his height keeping the crushed and dented metal from clipping the old fuck that had gotten him into this mess. Fuck her.

He slammed he truck into the street. It was deafening. Silence followed, the smoke left the wreck of the vehicle. All he noticed was the lack of music.

The hummer slammed into the street so loud it was deafening. Peter looked into the car. The high hood was crunched like paper, the driver, somehow, wasn't dead. Making out with about three airbags at once, but not dead. Yet. He winced as a sharp pain hit him in the stomach and looked down to find a piece of metal sticking out of an ugly gash on his side. He yanked it out and pocketed it. The only place his DNA was ending up was in his sheets.

Heaving, he fell forward on the hood of the truck and closed his eyes. There was his action for the day, and since he wouldn't be getting a reward- "…Aaand scene. _Ow_."

"That car… it would have- thank you, thank you! You saved me!" The wizened old voice made him turn around. He heard his bones creaking and just looked over his shoulder. The old woman was gaping at him.

Peter snapped. Could be because he had never been thanked by an old lady, or much of anyone, or because she was an old lady. He bet money a feminist therapist would have a field day with gender-bait like that.

"WHAT THE _FUCK_ IS YOUR PROBLEM?!" Spit flew from his mouth and all over her face. She was lucky he swallowed the rest. Or had that been blood? Tasted like it. "YOU DEAF, SENILE, DECREPIT, FUCKING _STUPID OLD LADY_!"

He tugged at his hair and remembered he didn't have any. His stomach clenched in pain and his side was on fire as the air left him, but he ignored it. "YOU'RE TOO FUCKING _OLD_ TO BE DODDERING OUT IN THE GODDAMN STREET! TOO FUCKING OLD AND TOO FUCKING SLOW! IF I HADN'T BEEN HERE YOU'D BE FUCKING DEAD, YOU HEAR ME? DEAD LADY, DEAD!"

"Look!" Someone shouted.

They ran to the car behind the old woman and struggled to get the idiot who thought driving so fast was a good idea, out of the car. Or at least out of the air bags. Whichever came first. More people joined and seconds passed. They got the driver out and by then still no one was jeering or blaming him. Nothing like New York.

"…Houston," he muttered.

The driver was pulled out of the car and laid on the ground. The paramedics arrived not long after, quicker than he expected. One of them came up to him with bandages and something else, but he was having none of it. Too used to New York, even in Houston, he just left. After all that, he needed a drink.

* * *

After taking the metal out of his side and dropping it in a tub full of hot water – no one was going to get their hands on his DNA again – his first stop was the bar. It was nearly eleven in the morning and he already risked his life for someone, caused another scene.

"All the power, none of the responsibility my ass," he scoffed, expecting to hear the voice in his head. There was nothing. Good riddance.

He didn't drink for pleasure but he needed _something_ to do to pass the time while he healed. He wasn't going to go patrol or fight…. whatever there was in Houston. Or watch TV. Was going to sit, enjoy his newfound wealth, give being a young lush another shot. Alcohol sucked the first time around but bodying a hummer made a lot of things sound better in comparison.

He turned the corner, barely paid attention to the lush looking redwood walls and sleek display of what money could really buy in this town. He kept his head down, sat down, and tapped down on the counter like he had in the half dozen or so bars he tried before. The universal signal for "Give me a drink without the conversation." Wasn't so lucky.

"No free drinks before noon," someone replied from behind the bar. A Texan accent, woman's voice. She leaned forward to see him clearer. After his display, without a mask he reminded himself, he wasn't in the mood for picture day. "…Sir. Unless you wanna pay for it."

He dug through his pocket and slapped down a bunch of crunched up bills he swiped from one of the bags as an afterthought. Peter hoped she was serious. Otherwise he doubted he would get a kiss on the cheek in return, much less a blowjob.

"What the fuck… Okay, wow," the bartender said, gaping at the money.

He grunted at the half dozen twenties on the counter and looked up. He stared for a second. "You have to be _fucking_ kidding me."

God's sense of humor really was twisted. If MJ decided to go Pink instead of Red, was slightly older, then the bartender was a dead-ringer for her. He almost called her MJ too. Shoulder length pink hair with glam-pop… things on the fringes, pink lipgloss, shining green eyes.

She blinked at him. "Not the reaction I usually get from guys."

"I just threw down eighty dollars. You've got enough from me," Peter snapped, a little testy. _MJ._ For that matter, _Kitty. Gwen._ What were the chances they had doubles in this heat trap of a city too? Hell, maybe he'd see his own. Fat chance on that.

"You know what, you're right." She turned around and reeled back a glass case containing shelves of what they said was good stuff. From experience, he knew it tasted like burnt water and cigarettes. Hardly worth eighty dollars. "What's your poison handsome?"

"Anything that isn't crap," he said, bristling at the compliment. Being someone other than Peter Parker was uncomfortable. Like being unfamiliar in his own home. Unwanted, but he'd get used to one like he got used to the other.

Three drinks from an expensive looking bottle were set on the counter when she turned around. He reached for one and she pulled it away. "You old enough to drink?"

He snatched one for himself. "I'm old enough for a lot of things," he said, cagey-like.

Two glasses later he was still sober. That was a bad sign. She turned on the TV and it droned on in the background. Some news channel he didn't pay attention to. The bartender still nursed the third glass for herself like eighty off the top wasn't good enough. She inspected him, going so far as to lean over the counter and look at him.

"How old are you?" She asked.

"Old enough."

"But _how_ old?"

"None of your business," he grunted, then looked up. "Unless you want to make it yours?"

"I think if I'm serving drinks to a minor, it's already my business." She put her hands on her hips and looked down at him, though even then he was nearly bigger than her sitting down. Standing up she'd barely made it to his chest.

"What's the minimum age in Texas?"

She rolled finger around the rim of her glass and sipped at it while looking him in the eye. "21."

"Not the one I was talking about." She choked.

" _Spill_ ," The MJ lookalike said when she finally stopped coughing. "Or I'm cutting you off."

Peter looked at his glass and contemplated tipping it over, as she doubtlessly had said. "If I do, you're cleaning up the mess," he replied, taking a sip before grimacing. "This is shit. I should ask for my money back."

"You paid for it. Where does a young man like you get dosh like that?"

"From older women who like to pester me."

"I'm twenty-four," she said, looking away.

She was good looking enough. That was half of it; the other half was that she wasn't used to someone not falling over themselves around her. He had things on his mind that didn't include being an idiot around a pretty face.

"A person drinking before noon would be better off with coffee. We have tea too. It's good for you."

"And?"

"You should have some."

"I'm not a kid."

"Didn't say that, but since you mentioned it," she flipped her hair and leaned on the counter, all casual. "Downtown has lots of business for people like you there. You been?"

He had. Downtown Houston was cleaner than NYC, and the prostitutes, if they were prostitutes, were a lot. Otherwise, there were a lot of provocatively dressed women. …Or men. He didn't know what they were. "Hm," he grunted.

"I figured you worked there, or something. All that dosh."

"I'm not- You're calling me a _prostitute?"_

The bartender's eyes flew open. "What?! No! I thought you were a pickpocket!"

"I'm not a damn pickpocket!" He yelled. "Or a prostitute!"

"Then where did you get the money?!" She started to laugh. It sounded good. When she stopped she was tapping the part of the counter in front of him. Very close. She played with his glass like it was hers. "Where you from, up North? Your accent is funny."

He groaned. "All around."

"They have names there? Ages? …Numbers?"

"What?"

"Names, I said. Ages."

"…Yeah." Peter shook his head. He gestured toward the TV to distract himself. "Turn that up."

She grumbled but did it anyway. "Come here, throwing money around and expect me to listen to you? If I'm your next client-"

"Not a prostitute," he groaned.

" _If_ you were."

"And if I said I'm a minor?"

"What the fuck- really?" He didn't move. "God _damn_ , you from the Hinterlands or something?"

"New York."

"And you're a minor?"

He showed his pearly whites. "Barely legal."

She tossed her hands in the air. Muttered something like 'jailbait' and 'probably worth it', and 'rodeo'. Peter just rolled his eyes. _Houston_.

She almost avoided him after that. But looking furtively at him every few seconds while she chewed on her nails and fidgeted her hair didn't count as avoiding, entirely. There were worse ways to take flirting with a seventeen year old.

He tuned in to the TV as a news report started, motioned for a refill, and started to drink. She poured herself another glass too. "Don't report me," she said.

"— _Melted containers. From what we've been told, the officers at the scene have suffered moderate burns and dehydration. Police are searching for what, or who, eyewitness reports say, caused this. Other eyewitness reports claim a figure similar to vigilante 'Spider-Man', last seen in New York City, was sighted there and was integral to the officer's safety."_

The image changed to show a bird's eye view of what had occurred. Fire and plumes of smoke were everywhere. He could see a blurred figure moving nimbly around as balls of fire careened toward them. Long brown hair. A scarlet suit with a spider on it. Jessica.

His glass dropped to the table. At five inches in the air it made noise and spilled a little. Peter closed his eyes. "No fucking way."

" _We now return you to the live coverage of the fire breaking out at Houston Medical Center. Firefighters are on scene and- breaking news! There are reports of Spider-Man being sighted in the area!"_

"…You have to be _fucking_ kidding me."

He stood up and walked out. The bartender looked up just in time to see him leaving. "Hey, dude- _hey! W_ here you going? The name's Annabelle! Call me! I might have some business for you! …Just joking!"


	6. Family Reunion Part 2

**(Awkward) Family Reunion Part 2**

* * *

It was a quarter to noon. Peter had a feeling his afternoon was going to suck.

All the power, none of the responsibility? Complete bullshit. He was wearing something that belonged in the trash, instead it had been stuck in the bottom of his bag of memorabilia. Spare pair of shoes that didn't fit. Old toothbrush. Dried up webshooters. Picture of the Parker family. Nothing he used anymore.

Peter didn't think he could feel more stupid than stopping a crash with his body in the middle of the day, but swinging off to save a mutant girl from a fire while wearing a black mask with red eyepieces, a black tanktop sewed to a red bodysuit with black shoulders was a good contender of stupid things to do, and that's exactly what he was doing.

It won the gold because of the red spider on the chest and back. Took platinum with the mask. Made him want to laugh at himself because it barely fit anymore and looked more like it was painted on than spandex.

He didn't know why he put it on, just knew this was the last straw. His final good deed, his third strike. After this he was done with Houston. He was going to take his money and go Mexico. Maybe buy a beach. Sip margaritas with bartender girls that didn't look like MJ. Be a pain in a druglord's ass or something.

"Or after this will you finally get started? What's this _really_ the last straw for?"

He ignored It. Took him less than five minutes to get to the HMC. If he felt like admitting it, it would be less than three. All he could think about was the girl, the nightmare he had. Officer Layton and Doctor Donald little more than burning corpses while the girl shacked up with arachnids as a last bid to lose her virginity on her deathbed.

Had he seen the future? What, was this a power of his now? What a _shitty_ fucking thing to see if it was. He had enough issues already and adding premonitions of innocent people being murdered. This wasn't something he wanted, but really, when was the last time he ever got what he wanted? The night before? Should have known it was too good to be true.

And then he thought of _Jessica._ If he was dreaming of the future, somehow, well… he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing or not.

There were at least fifty people stuck inside the HMC. The firefighters posted up outside and kept it from spreading but never managed to keep it down inside for long. The few that could get in didn't get out. Peter saw it all from a bird's eye view. Trapped in a breathless heat trap of a place.

He thought of the corpses at the dock. People he couldn't save, much less help, and launched himself from an opposing rooftop and slingshot into a window at random, hoping the fireball that broke out of it was the biggest problem he would have to face. His spider-sense ringing said it wasn't.

The glass sprinkled down around him as he hit the floor in a three point landing. His garbage homeless–made suit was already ripped and the window led to an on-fire hallway. He was probably fucked. Wished he had some sort of self-repairing suit.

 _"Dio."_

He turned, hearing the thick accented voice of someone and his spider-sense started to ring. Peter looked him over and his spider-sense started to ring even more. Could have been the way the fire started to surround him while he scoped them, or the fact that the guy was nearly as big as he was and inked up like a pissed off tattoo artist got to him while he was passed out drunk. Or maybe it was the fact that his hands were on fire and he didn't seem to care. That was probably it.

"Another one?" Peter barely heard him. Long hippy hair, free the nipple body, ugly jeans ands and ugly ass tattoos. He was going to call him Burning Man for sure. "Who are _you_ supposed to be? _Escarlata_ _araña?"_

Peter didn't answer. Behind the mask his eyes scoped the room. He could see someone, the Doc, behind the Burning Man. Just his luck that his luck went to someone else so they could die horribly.

 _"Are you with- Look! Get him out of here! There are hundreds of patients still inside!"_ The doc managed to cough out. The world was burning around him and all he cared about were the people inside.

Peter thought of the people that had been inside the containers, packed like rotting fish. The doc's human decency was refreshing. He made sure to thank him. "Shut the fuck up and _run!"_ He did.

With just the two of them, Peter connected the dots. The dream, the girl. The fire. This guy was after her, caused the fire. Didn't care about the lives of anyone. Not Layton, not the doc- _where was Layton?_

A pit settled in Peter's stomach. Layton had been a good person. All he wanted to do was help him and Peter was too late to help _him,_ just like all the rest. _Great conclusion, Parker.'_

Peter crouched low, clenched and unclenched his fists so hard his knuckles cracked. Felt his eyes… do something. All he could see was red. Because of the eyepieces. The plan hadn't changed. Do something _stupid_ , save people, and save the girl. He added _kick this asshole's teeth in_ , out, and down his throat and solve everything to the list. For Layton.

"The girl," Peter growled, circling the burning man. _"Where is she?"_

He grinned. "You come for her?" he asked. Peter was thinking of ways to make fun of him and jokes to crack. He was thinking of the best way to break him. Make him scream his apologies. "Her champion? _You?"_ Peter didn't know what he was talking about. " _A_ _raña escarlata?_ No… _Hombre_ _araña?"_

Peter shifted. He knew the first hit he was getting was going to be his knee in the guy's kidney. "I've always wanted to fight a superhero."

Superheroes weren't planning to do to him what Peter was. _"Bad news then."_

"Bad news then!"

Something, _someone_ , darted from the side and speared the Burning Man in the side, tackling him down the hallway and handspringing away just before he got up and roared, fire streaming out of his mouth, nose, and eye.

Peter vaguely recognized the voice but didn't need to. Her costume was enough. "Dance with the one who brought you, Gecko-face!"

Standing in the hallway the doc had run down was Jessica, in all her glory. Her costume was soaked, her hair was covered in white stuff. Webbing. It was almost enough to make Peter do a double-take.

"I mean really, I know we didn't have the best first date, but I promise to impress you this time! You're into girls, right? What's _this_ guy got that I don't?" She looked around the pyro at Peter, and Peter realized she didn't even recognize him. "I dress better, I make better jokes! _What_ can I do to make you see that _I'm_ the one you want to kick your ass? Not some guy who belongs in a cosplay convention."

The Burning Man wasn't impressed, Peter could see it in his eyes. He was excited, _amused._ He thought this was fun, thought killing people, killing _Layton_ was _fun_. He laughed and outstretched his arms and Peter saw red. _"La panocha y la imitación!_ _es mi día de suerte!"_

Peter grew up in Queens, not Manhattan. He barely knew enough Spanish to say "Go fuck your mother," but this he understood. The guy was wrong. "Lucky day? We'll see about that."

Peter was on him in a second, blitzing him faster than he could see and a blur of black and red. Exactly as he promised his knee speared the Burning Man right in the kidney after he wrangled around his neck. Kept it fast and hard so he couldn't let another fire blast out. Jessica would get the girl and he'd the guy. He was straight, but he'd enjoy this.

The next thing he knew he was being yanked away. Twin _thwips_ on his back had him halfway across the room before he fired off one of his own to bring down another red fist right in the Burning Man's face fast enough to rip some skin away.

Then someone pulled him around and tossed him back to the other end of the hallway. He really was seeing red right now because he almost charged at her. At Jessica. _"Who the hell are you?!"_ She asked, then ducked to the side as a ball of fire sailed past her. Peter was moving already, jumped to the wall and ran on it to avoid it. _"Another_ clone?! _Come on!_ "

Peter was almost there, almost back again to bury the guy's face in the floor, when his spider-sense went off. Loudly. He was falling when the Burning Man spit a blood from his mouth and the rest inside… caught fire. " _Dead man,"_ he whispered. _"Arana muerta."_

Peter didn't care. He wasn't going to die before he got a few more hits in anyway. His knee fell right on the Burning Man's face and he twisted on instinct, moving faster than the fire could touch him to bend back and slam his head into the ground over and over again. He felt he was on fire but didn't stop. He saw red. Saw Layton, saw Ben, saw Gwen and George and everyone, and he didn't stop despite the screams.

Then he realized he was screaming. The fire had eaten away at his back, the scar from the carcrash had burst open and was soaking his suit in blood. A webline hit him square in the chest as he somersaulted to rip off the suit and then he was flying toward the window at the other end of the hallway, right where he came in.

Just before he went through another one snagged him and he took a hard right into a hallway that had working sprinklers. He acted on instinct and immediately made his way to one of them, dousing himself. The haze of red he saw was drowned out just like the fire.

"Itsy bitsy spider~" All Peter was thinking about was why he hadn't taken the fight down this hallway first. "You always have to make things harder for yourself," It said.

 _"Hombre araña?"_

Peter turned, halfway in between ripping what remained of his suit apart to get as much water as possible. He ignored the pain and then ignored thoughts of Jessica because he heard, "Peter?"

It was the girl. Dressed in a hospital gown, barefoot and hair soaked to the scalp she looked like something out of a horror movie. All Peter could think about was that she was safe. He was glad she was safe, unlike Layton. And he hadn't managed to save either fucking one of them.

"You came," she said, looking up at him. She started to smile. Peter felt like throwing up.

He darted past her, back into the fight. "Not in time."

He got around the corner just to see Jessica put her foot in the guy's stomach, barely staggering him. Fire like snakes lashed out at her and then she was on fire. Peter gave her good turn one of its own and sent her down the waterway all while Itsy-Bitsy was playing in his head. Jessica was going too easy on him. He would be too hard on him.

Peter cracked his knuckles as the Burning Man stood straight and collected fire in his palms. His extreme was better. Hell, the flaming fuck would probably like it.

The Burning Man's voice was like fire. "Where is the girl _, Escarlata_ _araña_?"

"Her?" he asked, thinking of Jessica and knowing he meant the telepath. He cracked his neck next. ' _Round two.'_

"And here I thought you were actually into guys. I'm all you need, _Gecko-Boy."_

The Burning Man opened his mouth and the entire hallway erupted in flame.

* * *

Eight months ago he had been about to turn 16 and a half. Life was better than it used to be. He wasn't bullied… as much. He had a house… that he had to sell pictures of himself to help keep up. He had a girlfriend… that broke up with him because he might get her killed. He had a friend that died.

Another girlfriend that wasn't afraid of dying. Their first serious date involved being hunted like animals on an island thousands of miles away from home. She was a great kisser. Her family could probably kill him if Jean Grey didn't put his mind in a fucking hedgehog or something beforehand.

Then he found out he had a clone. Shit went downhill from there. Zero to what-the-fuck _real_ fast.

Now, if he had known he was going to spend the day falling out the window _on_ after being on fire he would have stayed in bed. Watched another documentary on spiders. Jerked it to sticking it up Jessica's ass before going to sleep and dreaming about sticking it in her mouth and playing hide the sausage while she bent over and gave suggestions while all of his jizz ended up in his sheets.

But he didn't. His life kind of sucked that way.

The explosion chased after Peter as he jumped backward and out of the window. He was on fire and saw red again. Fired two weblines that dragged the Burning Man with him all that way until he hit a speedbump, the wall. That took Peter down at a right angle. He pressed himself to the wall, just avoiding the rush of snake-shaped fire before he pulled hard.

"Out came the fire and dried up all the rain~"

The Burning Man cartwheeled out of the window like a ragdoll. Peter yanked him back like a yoyo and slammed him in the chest, his fists meeting the tatted up face until they hit the ground.

The guy could take a hit and that was turning out to be very bad for him. He started to get up. Instead of wondering why he wouldn't " _Stay down!"_

Peter wrenched him by the hair and used him like a flail, hitting the ground and a flagpole with him before loosing him into a wall. And he still wasn't through. Neither of them were.

" _You think you can kill me, Spider-Man?!"_ Burning Man screamed. _"I was given fire by my God you worthless insect! Yours are dead! They will not save you from m- mmph!"_

A heavy splat of webbing hit him square in the mouth, but it didn't come from Peter. He watched as Jessica descended from the window with far more grace than he had cared to do before landing in a crouch, coming up to his waist. She stared for a second and he was suddenly aware that the costume was really undersized.

She looked at him more, then looked up at him and waved. "They didn't have one in your size…?" She muttered. "Thanks for the save, big guy. You friendly? Habla _inglo?_ "

Peter didn't know what to say to her. "You-"

"If you're not we can fight later, " she said, standing up. "Got webs, right? Know how to shoot them?"

Peter shook his head. "Webs versus fire – not the best matchup."

Jessica interlaced her fingers and pushed out her arms, cracking her knuckles. She started to stretch as the Burning Man started to smoulder and his hair started to catch fire. Kicked one of her legs up over her head in a perfect split. Peter could do that too, but… it looked better when she did it.

"Tell me about it. Webs – like, _10._ Fire?" She looked him over, pat him on the back. "…Well you'll learn."

It was good to know, but he was still looking down at the wet, puffy mound that showed through her suit. He knew it wasn't the best time, as if there was ever a good one to crotch gaze her of all people, but he had been on fire earlier. " _Hey,_ _big guy_ , my eyes are up _here._ Don't be weird. We all come from the same place."

She still didn't have a clue. He actually managed to laugh. Seeing her was quickly turning out to be the best part of his day. "Good to see you too, Jess," he said. She was visibly caught off guard. He looked down again. "Really good to see you."

"Wh-"

 _"Araña_ _escarlatas!"_ Both their heads snapped to the Burning Man. Peter didn't doubt Jessica's spider-sense made her look His sure as hell did.

He managed to tear off the webbing but it was warped around his hands like rubber and didn't seem to be doing a good job of melting. His face was bloody and Peter realized the webbing had torn out his beard. The blood caught fire. _"Sangre araña. La Panocha a_ _raña_ _. coño a_ _raña_ _._ I have had _enough_ of you."

Peter could hear his and Jessica's voices at the same time. "Oh fuck."

The world erupted into flame. Probably said something about his priorities that the first thing he did was grab Jessica by her ass, put her face into his crotch and his into hers, and then jump.

* * *

"In case you were wondering, she won't eat you," It said.

Peter could hear the voice echo inside his mind, less like the girl's because it was there and almost physical. "Although you might just eat her. You've been wanting to do that for a while, right? Munch right down on her. Very cannibalistic of you. Incestuous. A cannibal and a sister fucker? You _do_ have problems."

His wrists tingled from the amount of webbing that was fired from them. Jessica, quick thinker that she was, added her own into the mix. If the webbing was fire retardant like she said it was their best option. Their only one.

He wondered if she felt the same thing in her fingertips. He knew that she was feeling something else. They jumped together and spun, encasing themselves in a cocoon of webbing just before the fire roasted them alive. Peter had never let so much out before but it obviously wasn't affecting him negatively. Not with his hard cock jabbing Jessica in the neck.

Her pussy ground against his face while she spun. Wouldn't have been a problem because she unfortunately smelled like low tide, but the soft meat of her thighs squeezing around his head and the feeling of her ass on his face did him in. They had to act so fast neither had moved, only stuck out their arms, spun like their namesake while she screamed out a muffled noise of what-the- _fuck_ , making every vibration went to his cock. She was too wet up top for him to know if she was getting anything from this like he was, but it was probably better for his sanity and morals not to know.

"You have _my_ blessing, in case you were wondering," It said.

Peter groaned to himself just as Jessica groaned into his cock. She was saying something but he couldn't hear her and they both had the sense to keep still. Wrapped in a thick layer of webbing, the both of them were waiting until their spider-senses stopped ringing.

Peter heard footsteps and went rigid. Jessica heard them too and…. Started to writhe as he went rigid in her face. She moved her face around, no doubt to not get a face full of sibling-spider-dick, but never managed to get far enough. He felt kind of bad about that even though it felt… _really_ fucking good. He almost wanted her to keep going. "Americans and their super heroes…"

Peter felt a shift in the webbing. Jessica was nodding. He nodded right back. Of course they'd have the same idea!

He ignored the shallow, wet pressure on his cock because they were packed tight and the fire made them break out into an instant sweat. He could feel it on her too, at the sides of his head and on his face where her sweaty thighs and soaked camel toe pressed tightly against him. Peter didn't give it a second thought.

 _'Three…'_ He counted down, sure she was doing the same.

"Killing the spiders was easy. Relics of a dying tribunal…"

 _'Two…'_

 _"Hn?_ What is…."

 _'One!'_

It sounded happy. "Out came the spider~"

Peter's hand ripped through every layer of webbing like paper and seized the Burning Man by his throat. Slammed him to the ground in less than a second and didn't let up until his eyes were swollen and black and blue. With every punch webbing erupted from his wrists almost with a mind of its own, wrapping around his beat form until it was up to his eyes. Peter ignored it, ignored the twisted version of 'Itsy-Bitsy' in his head. Kept punching, kept hitting when the smoldering dots of fire appeared in the webbing and kept hitting when they snuffed out.

He finally stopped and pulled away, heaving. _"And the itsy bitsy spider comes out on top again…"_ He double tapped the bastard in the balls one last time. "That was for Layton."

He looked around for Jessica – hadn't seen her in the blitz – but only saw a crowd of people. Half-expected them to start jeering at him. They weren't, but it sure as hell wasn't cheering.

Wide eyed like they just saw a murder – good, he wasn't about to rip a hole open for the asshole to breathe – but why were they pointing at him with their phones out? His hand went to his mask, but it was on, so why-?

The wet pressure was still there for some reason, then something slithering. Peter heard a rip. Suddenly he lurched forward as the feeling of something hot and wet surrounded his… he looked down and saw Jessica. With his cock. In her mouth.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. She opened hers and his cock the length of her forearm came in spit-city while she knelt, on her knees, her mask pulled up and her hand cupping his balls so she could slurp on his cock like it was a popsicle in the Houston heat. Her other one was rubbing a friction fire between her legs while the long, fat thing jerked and throbbed on her tongue, while her tongue slathered it in spit like it was on fire.

The sound of her soaked pussy making everything click for him: she looked good like that, his cock in her mouth. _Right._ He already knew that from the dreams, but this was… something else. As his balls tightened, he felt Jessica nodding, moaning desperately and bobbing up and down on his fat cockhead. She knew exactly what she was doing and had no intent to stop even while the wet noise of her fingers rubbing her pussy into dust reached a fever pitch.

 _"Oh fffffu-!"_ He wasn't sure which one of them said it but he knew he had better not be _fucking dreaming_ again. He came hard, not wanting to close his eyes if it meant waking up, and watched Jessica's cheeks balloon with every drop of the viscous goo that seemed to build up in his balls if it meant having her suck it all down. It coated her face, her chest, and her mask while she slathered it all up and grinned stupidly. He grinned back, beneath his mask, and ran his hand through her long, brown hair. She could pull it off far better than he could.

That was about the time he heard the cheering and the sound of photos snapping. The crowd was cheering. For him. While he cock sucked. By his clone. By his sister. It all sunk in and she kissed his tip and burped, and he knew it was all in her stomach. He came again because of that, coated her face with it. It covered her mask completely but she was the one cheering.

"Oh, fuck." Peter closed his eyes to pretend the shutter sound didn't exist while it deafened everything else. "… _Houston_."


	7. Bonding Part 1

**Bonding Part 1**

 **Jessica wants to catch up and catch.**

* * *

Something inside Jessica snapped. It was probably the part of her with critical thinking skills.

But it felt good. Snapping and just… letting go. It felt like a continuous jolt of electric pleasure, hot and everywhere, muscle melting relief. All of her frustrations melted away. Her face turned blank for a second and she stopped her ministrations. While cum sat and dried on her pretty, masked face like plaster. While it did, she was crunching numbers.

A normal ejaculation produced anywhere from 2 to 5 milliliters. There is anywhere from 100 million to 1 billion sperm in those amounts. There was a lot more than 5 milliliters on Jessica's face. It was like she'd swum through a spermbank. Her face was caked like it had been a blank canvas. It was the finished piece now and she had to look up through the mask so the painter, _Peter_ , could see the masterpiece he had created. It was a new can of worms for her but since she already stuffed her mouth his cock it was too late to worry about it.

Her mask was heavy with cum, making her half-lidded and drunk looking as she looked up at Peter. His smell was in her nose, his musk and cum and… something else. Something so… so _good._ It made her tremble. Definitely more than 5 milliliters. _Definitely_ more than a billion sperm. _She'd_ done this. Coaxed it out of his balls and all over her- well, _everything._ It was in her hair, dripping down her chin onto her small-ish chest, her quivering thighs and in between her legs, cooling on the ground in chunks like paste.

Jessica didn't need another reminder that she was messed up in the head but she got one anyway. She felt prideful that she'd been able to do _this…_ To Peter. Get him to empty his big, heavy balls all over her face. In front of everyone. That's what made her grin and cheer. She got his moneyshot and wore it like a badge of pride. Kitty Pryde probably hadn't done anything like this for him. Wouldn't do it for him because Jessica already had. Maybe if the X-Man asked nicely.

That was a loud reminder. Enough to wake her up. Jessica licked her lips, slurped up a heavy and fat rope of cum sticking to her face from her bottom lip to her chin. All the times she remembered him sliding a hand up and down his fat cock while she 'watched'? Sucking his dick in public? Totally going on the fridge of her personal memories.

She started stroking him again, deciding it was best to cap off the occasion with a kiss . The occasion that turned her from a slightly disturbed, spider-powered teenage girl without a family to one that sucked her brother's cock in addition to the other stuff – in front of people. Very, very important. She planted a fat, pouty kiss on his cock to cement this new truth of her life.

There was probably a chance she'd be crouched in a shower later, but with the way her pussy quivered and clenched as his cock touched her lips again, Jessica didn't think so. This was _so_ the wrong thing to be doing, but the right choice for her.

Her mask was so showered in cum that she could barely see him. The gooey stuff was chunky and thick, ropes laid on her face, clogged the threading of her suit. She'd never get those out. Jessica wondered if she even _wanted_ to while she jerked him off. She needed to breathe eventually so she lifted the mask over her nose.

The oxygen let her think clearly. Barely. ' _This is Peter_ , _'_ she thought, as if the cock in her face was clue enough. She stared at it drearily with a crooked, not-at-all-there smile. _'You know Peter- y-your brother? So messed up… This is so messed… shouldn't be doing this… So sick… so…. Good.'_

In the back of her mind where the scent of his jizz couldn't or hadn't reached she wondered about why he looked… different. That was the word for it. His cock was still the same, as thick as her arm and congruous with pulsing, throbbing veins. His balls were swollen even after emptying on her face – when was the last time he came?

But Peter was easily over six feet tall, dwarfing her. She was definitely the shorter twin. On her knees he towered over her, casting a shadow down on her cum covered face while she slurped and sucked him down, absently like that was the normal thing to do. And the more Jessica thought about It the more normal it got. It wasn't like anyone ever wrote a handbook for how to greet the guy who you were cloned from. She shot webbing from her fingertips. Weird as she was, this was totally _not_ a big stretch. Completely not.

She looked at his cock crosseyed and Peter jerked in post-orgasm delirium, groaning deeply. It left a trail of seed hanging thickly from her nose that Jessica tried multiple times to catch before she actually did.

She could only ever suck her brother's dick once, right? Yolo, or something. Now she'd never have to deal with the awkwardness of wanting to do it or having done it again. And this… wasn't as awkward as she fantasized it being – fantasies where they'd inevitably succumb to each other and Peter would fuck her behind his bedroom door while Aunt May was cleaning the house, unaware. Damn Japanese cartoons.

It wasn't awkward at all to stare him in the eye and giggle like she had too much to drink – and she didn't even drink – while she drank his cum straight from the tap. It was easy. If she had a clearer head, or actually cared, Jessica supposed she'd be wondering why, and why she was hearing a pervert version of itsy-bitsy with the words, _"Out came the cum,"_ instead of just wanting making up for lost time with Peter.

 _Her_ Peter. Her _brother,_ Peter. And his peter too. They had a lot to talk about.

She burped, quietly, feeling a heavy chunk of his sperm plop into her stomach. "So… good to see ya Pete," she said drunkenly. Casually. Like she wasn't focused on stroking his cock while her fingers shuffled up her pussy.

Peter was just as bad. She felt the shiver shoot down his spine and through his cock. It jumped in her hand and Jessica covered it with her mouth on reflex. "Good… Good to see you too Jess?"

He was biting his lip to keep from groaning. He groaned anyway and she smiled triumphantly. _She_ did that. Not Kitty or MJ or anyone! She did. It sent a jolt of hazy pleasure through her that made her suit soak through. His head rocked back and Jessica squeezed the end of his shaft, just under his bulbous cockhead. The barest amount of cum eeked out under the pressure, the last of so many wads she could remember splotching against the bedroom, bathroom, shower walls or even ceilings during long, lonely feverish jerk off sessions. Now it'd be over her tongue.

"Oh, _fuuuunnn,"_ she slurred, "Big… big… big-" She couldn't bring herself to say brother or bro to save her life even after he had inseminated her stomach. That had to count for something. "How was your day?" She asked, like a good sibling.

"Oh, hah, so far so… good _, fuck_ , Jess!" Peter laughed hazily. Somehow she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. That made her feel relieved. It was his praise that made her feel hot. Empty. Turned on more than anything.

Her lips curled stupidly, a satisfied smirk. "We… kicked ass, didn't we?" She clicked her tongue. It wasn't entirely true. Peter kicked ass, she just sucked his dick. She helped. Jessica was fine with that.

She looked over at the Burning Man's cocooned body. A threatening weapon aimed to shoot her in the face, and it already had, Jessica had to be honest. It didn't look like the Burning Man moving inside. It didn't look or feel like either one of them cared. Too wrapped up in their cocoon of lust to notice anyone but each other. She was giving Peter the honor of her first blowjob so her concern leaned more toward the fact that Peter had been set on fire. That she needed to make the pain and throbbing and… hot cum, go away. She could only do that by swallowing. So she did, again.

Not bothering to pop off, she raised her hand. Her fingers left her needy, ignored pussy with a wet _schlpp_ sound. "High-five?" She asked, sounding more like _"Mmphmf phuve?"_

Peter's large hand met her in the middle. "We totally deserve a reward for this. Not asking for much," she slurred, and it crossed her lust addled mind that she was technically homeless now. That sucked. Her money was waterlogged, burnt up with her jeans. With a tummy full of sperm she wasn't hungry now, at least. And… if the nights got cold she'd have to definitely depend on her twin to warm her up. "I'm thinking… a room to catch up on. Simple stuff, you know?"

Peter's voice was low. Husky. Jessica shivered. "You mean..."

She licked her lips, trying to be casual and knowing it went out the window when her pussy was throbbing on his face earlier. That had been about the time she felt her brain stop working. Or caring. Both. "I'm fine with the _side of a building_ honestly," she said.

They could pair up on a web-hammock to keep warm. Anywhere but the docks was fine. For some reason she had a feeling Peter would agree. "I'm just _really_ happy to see you again, Pete."

She made it obvious, a show of arching her back and popping him back inside her mouth with a low, completely and totally perfunctory moan like she was saying hello. It was a clone hello that got... more, as she got emboldened by Peter's low, drawn out, _"Fuck."_ Her pussy quivered and dripped and Jessica bobbed up and down like his cock was a sucker, when they both knew she was.

She wondered what the look on J.J.J and Aunt May's face would be like if they saw him getting his cock sucked like this. And poor Kitty Pryde. Jessica had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Had done the very thing she was afraid she'd do – steal Peter away from his girlfriend. Whoops.

"I think I know a place," Peter said, seeing her go stiff and rigid and stupid. He held out his hand. Jessica took it after sucking her fingers clean.

She licked her lips at the thought of where he'd take her. Maybe an alleyway. Some place romantic? A rooftop. "Lead the way. _"_

In seconds hey found her legs were about as sturdy as jelly. Peter helped her up and she sloppily hopped on him, clearing his fleshy pole before it could impale her. She wrapped her arms around his muscular neck, her meaty thighs around his waist. The fat of her ass had him sandwiched in the juice-soaked material of her suit. She sighed at the feeling, and made a half-hearted wave to their audience as Peter jumped off.

* * *

The water streamed down over Jessica's long, brown hair. Her eyes closed and the world drained away. She thought of nothing but the droplets of water and the steam around her. And the insistent throbbing of her pussy.

She and Peter barely had enough sense between them to get her into a shower. She smelled like a dock, low tide, but it was the fact that Peter was just about ready to bend her over that made her think better of fucking in-costume. She placed her hand on her chest, ended up idly tweaking her had been ready to _fuck…_ If... _when_ they did, Jessica wanted to be her best.

The door opened. Jessica smiled wide and pulled her hair back. The webbing from before, with the fight with the Mehicano-Gecko, was still caked in there. There was nothing she could do about that, though.

 _'I guess that's his cue,'_ she thought, then turned, seeing his silhouette through the shower door. He was taller, bulkier. More muscled than she remembered. Her opposite. Her twin.

Jessica could feel him wondering, knowing what he was thinking. It tickled the back of her head. Almost like a spider-sense. She wondered, for a second, if he was having second thoughts. Her stomach knotted. Hearing his thoughts instead of… whatever this was, would be good. But then she'd be Jean Grey. Jessica did not want to be Jean Grey.

Then she realized that wasn't it. His hand was at his crotch. Insistently trying to put his cock down."Damn it," he grunted. That brought back memories.

Jessica slid the door back and peeked out. She pursed her lips. "Uh, hey," she said, more cute than awkward. She realized that they were probably on the news right now. And the internet. Peter thought so. She thought he did.

Their eyes met. Peter had taken his mask off all sloppy-like. It was capped on his head where she could see most of his face, his eyes, but he looked different. Not just because he shaved his head. The amount of hair in the sink was a lot. She hadn't expected either one of those.

She could see one eye of his. Unlike hers, were a brownish-hazel. Hers were a greenish-hazel. His face was matured. Handsome, not boyish like she remembered. Peter had become a _man_ since she last saw him. All Jessica could say was that her growth had gone to her lower half. She hoped he wasn't too much of a breast-man to not turn her into a woman properly.

He hadn't taken his costume yet either. Jessica hadn't asked why, or why it looked worse than his original one, like he had made it on the road, or something. Why, _how_ he could afford a room at the Four Seasons Hotel, in the _Presidential Suite_ of all places. The Parkers hadn't even been able to afford a new stove, much less a small car.

Or how he afforded a ticket to Houston? _Why_ he was in Houston. Jessica hadn't asked. Not yet. And when her mouth opened but nothing came out when she saw he was… wearing boxers over the part of his costume that she made a hole in. If it was to conceal the weapon between his legs it wasn't doing a good job at all. An effort in futility. He was fiddling with his cock like it was a tool. She supposed it was, in a way. If he wanted to hide it, all he had to do was ask her to say _"Aah."_

Jessica snickered, water running down her face. "Are undies on the outie in style now?" She quipped, pointing at the black boxers covering his red suit.

"Would be if I had anything to say about it," Peter grumbled to himself.

"Going for the Superman look, huh?"

"Not a chance in hell…" Peter muttered. His voice was the opposite of hers. Hard instead of light. A baritone and all she had was breathy air. "I had my way, spandex would be 'outie' too."

Jessica leaned against the front shower wall. She stuck in place with her powers while the water crested down the arch of her back. "Don't like spandex anymore?" She asked, genuinely curious.

Peter jerked. "I _hate_ it," he said. More force than she had expected too.

Well, that was new. As if everything was normal she danced her finger around, at his suit while doubling down again that this was normal for them. At least after today. If she couldn't hold a conversation with Peter after they almost fucked, _after_ she'd blown him, swallowed his cum, well, that wasn't an America she wanted to live in.

They'd go to Mexico then. Together. Be a pain in a druglord's ass in between fucking each other. It was a good plan. Jessica liked it, was excited to be a part of it.

' _Yeah, you're such a great tactician, Drew.'_ "So… what's with the suit?" She asked, sighing at herself, not discontentedly. It was weird having to look up at him so her eyes inevitably fell to his crotch, where it was less weird and more of the same from before.

"Made it," Peter said helpfully. He gave up on keeping his dick not-as-hard as before. The second he it poked out at her like a compass to true North. "Ah, well. Shit."

She didn't know what he was trying to do, but it was fun to watch him play. Funner to watch him get hard because of her. _All_ because of her… "I am _flattered!_ I mean- _well I never_! Well, just the once," she said in mock offense.

He tilted his head. Jessica couldn't see herself in the smoked up red lense of his mask. "You're… something, Jess." He said.

Peter shook his head and Jessica knew he could think clearer now. Her stomach dropped like a lead weight. Did he regret what they'd done? What _she'd_ done? _God,_ she messed up… she really had _fucked up_ didn't she?

She couldn't keep the anxiety out of her voice. "G…Good something, or…"

His hand touched hers at the shower door where the rest of her body was hidden. She'd wanted to be coy about it. They had _oral_ sex, but this… she wanted to have…. _Something._ A grand reveal. Now she was afraid reality was knocking at the door of her fucked up fantasies.

"Hey, come on…" Peter said, seemingly in tune with her thoughts. "If you weren't… If this wasn't-"

He stepped back. "Jess, my _dick_ is _hard_. For you. What does that even mean?"

She felt immediately better. His cock twitched in the boxers. She licked her lips and imagined the smell. The pent up musk of his balls and all the precum that just had to be beading from his prick and soaking through…

"Uh… definitely it's a… physiological phenomena, yep. That… requires… looking into," she nodded to herself. "Because, _obviously,_ cumming didn't help the swelling." She licked her lips, swallowed.

"Obviously…" Peter exhaled like he was trying to hold back. Jessica didn't want him to.

"On my face," Jessica continued. "Cumming. _On my face._ "

"On your face," Peter repeated.

Jessica opened the shower door a bit and stepped back. Peter followed. "In… my mouth," she pressed, punctuating every word with a pop of her pink, pouty lips.

"…In your mouth." Peter was getting undressed now, barely having enough sense to take off the torso of his costume. Jessica tore it off and did the same to his boxers, his mask, closing the distance between them. By then he was already one foot in the door and once cock at her stomach.

"In my _hair_. All over my _suit,"_ she said, staring into his eyes with innocence she knew she didn't have. "You came all over me, Peter. Why?"

Peter slammed her up against the wall. There was something wrong, something _primal_ between them. Electric, borderline _growling._ She felt his control and tested it. His hunger, his pain and anger and emotion and wanted it all. Wanted to comfort him, wanted to _invite_ him _in_. Wanted to… catch up.

Her legs wrapped around his hips, tight like a spider around her prey, and he bucked at her, but she bucked away at the last second. His fat prick slammed against her clit and his shaft nearly gave her friction burn as it ground up to poke her in the solar plexus, making her see stars.

" _Augh! Tell… tell me,"_ she said, all the sense for idle chat out of her head out of her mind. ' _Good.'_ "Please?" she demanded, desperate sounding. "Why'd you cum on my face, _big brother?"_

Peter swallowed, grit his teeth, He shook his head. He obviously had more self-control than she did. Jessica liked that. A lot. She liked it even more when he breathed and panted and panted into the crook of her neck like a wild bull. Liked helping it all melt away inside her, because of her. Peter didn't need to regret _anything._ She wasn't going to. And he didn't need to control himself… because she wasn't going to either.

Her legs tightened, her strength clenching his body closer than any other girl, Kitty or MJ or whoever-the-fuck, could. They couldn't do for him what she could. His cock pulsed against her flat, toned, tight stomach and Jessica cooed at how it ground against her abs. "You can tell me…" She said gently, hugging him. "Why'd you cum on my face? Be honest."

Peter yanked away. Jessica felt her legs give a little. He stared down at her, hanging over her like when she was on her knees. " _Why'd you suck my cock?"_ He growled, turning the tables, Jessica felt… something. Something hot. Her cunt tightened. "You can tell me, _Jess,_ " he hissed.

She licked her lips. "Because it tasted _good_ ," she said brazenly, breathing. He looked at her with wild, untamable eyes like an animal. An animal she wasn't going to let the day end without bucking like a prized bull. Or rooster. _"_ Because I _wanted_ to." She put her hand on the back of his head and gently eased him back to her neck. He calmed down and she melted inside, whispered into his ear. _"Because I wanted to."_

His teeth raked against the skin of her neck. Possessive and hot with his breath. Her legs tightened, her stomach clenching against his prick while he mashed it against her and her navel. "Why'd you swallow me then?" He asked, gently licking the welts his teeth left, and she knew the tabled had turned again.

He kissed her collarbone. Jessica could feel her pussy _stream_ with her juices. " _Because your balls were full,"_ she said.

"Don't lie."

Jessica pushed him back with one hand, barely managing to get distance between them. He was… strong. Stronger. She had a feeling he only moved because he wanted to. Because he had the same idea as her. They were twins after all.

" _Because I wanted to,"_ she repeated, heavy. Throaty. She was back against the wall in seconds, slammed there so loud the bathroom shook. It didn't hurt, but she was sure the wall was a little cracked. Her rear-cushioning took most of the pushing. "I didn't want it to go waste… You already came on my _face_ Peter!" She ensnared him in her legs again. "It'd be a _waste_!"

"On your face," he repeated. Jessica could see it now. The fight in his eyes, no, the control. It was gone. On her hips now, lifting her up by her flushed, milky skin until she was looking down at him while the water fell on them.

"In my _hair…"_

"On your costume…" Peter grinned. Jessica thought she saw his eyes turn… no, her eyes shut when he put his face to her chest and sucked her nipple, attacked her breast and mauled the other one. "Sorry."

Jessica cooed. "I'm not..."

"Not about that," Peter said. Jessica was then vaguely away of being dropped. Then the world started to go hazy. Her eyes started to cross and trail off as a trail of drool seeped from her mouth. "About cumming all over your pussy."

Jessica blinked empty-headedly. She looked down and saw herself impaled, _stuck_ , and his cock was inside her. Not all the way, nowhere _close,_ but… _fuck,_ she could feel herself _stretching._ Hear it between her ears and in her brain as some of it just… _popped away,_ off to vacation. He was inside her, _finally,_ and it felt so damn _good._

She cried out and fell on him, her head on his shoulder. She slid down slow and Peter stuffed her gently, otherwise she was sure she'd be split in half. She was vaguely aware of her own voice now. _"Mmn! Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck…"_ Jessica sobbed, rubbing her face into his neck. She raked her teeth along him too, along his jawline and bit at him, licked at him while every torturous inch stuffed her twat like she'd been waiting for it to.

" _You… You haven't…"_ she barely brought herself to speak. _"You haven't done… fuck, god, Peter, you- mn!"_ Jessica felt her pussy seize around him. Lights flashed in front of her eyes and she didn't know when, but she picked her head up from his shoulder. She was drooling. " No… cum… in pussy," she said, her tongue feeling like it wasn't there. "N-No…"

Peter pulled away and she dribbled a moan. Her saliva having more presence in her mouth than her own tongue. Peter peeled back her clenching legs like they were wet noodles. They felt like it. The only reason she was up because his hands were on her waist, but she wanted them on her ass. His mouth moved but Jessica barely understood. His tongue was wagging, but she wanted it in her _mouth._ "No? Don't cum in your pussy?" He asked, all too calm now. Because of the self-control.

Looking into his eyes her cunt clenched again and she felt her juices leaking down like the water over them. She was fine with not having any control with him if it meant this. " _N-No…"_ she slurred some more. That _wasn't_ what she meant!

Peter started to pull out. As the inches left her, all the way up to the ridged cap of his cockhead, Jessica tried and failed to bring him close again. They had _so_ much to talk about… but it would come after _this._ It _had_ to, she _needed this!_

"I'm getting mixed signals, honestly Jess." Peter breathed deeply, but his façade was crumbling. Another inch slammed inside her and his nostrils flared in satisfaction. _"Mmf,_ you should be honest with me."

He was torturing her. Honest to caress torture. She couldn't think of anything better. Maybe being on a bed while he did it on top of her. The floor. Ceiling. Wall. Oh wait, she was already there. Her mind was somewhere else. " _No…!"_ She managed to say, growling. Jessica licked her lips. She tried to be angry and have some control but it all slipped through her fingers and soaked her pussy. His balls. And she was sure a few thousand of her braincells went with it.

And Peter's balls… she hadn't even felt them against her yet! She couldn't let this end before that!

Jessica brought up her legs, all weak, and squeezed with more strength than she had presently. Her legs crushed against Peter's waist and she felt her mind break, for a second. Then two, then three… and she couldn't see anything anymore.

Jessica woke up. She was drooling again and wondered if it was a dream, but his tongue was in her mouth. Her tongue was… just laying there, twitching like her legs locked around his waist. She smiled crookedly. " _No… Not cum in…"_ She gulped in air. " _Not yet, kay?"_

She tried to fight his tongue off as best she could. Valiant. Jessica had a feeling she'd lost the first time she lost consciousness. Losing was fun with Peter. "So, so fun…"

"Not yet," Peter repeated. Panted, while his tongue licked her all over from hers to her neck and breasts. He… liked them. All Jessica could offer to that was a, weak, hoarse, "Yay."

Jessica nodded into the kiss and he nodded back, their noses rubbing against each other like this was romantic instead of her ass to the wall, his balls-to-her-box kind of fuck. She could feel them churning. She smiled, her mind pushed out and leaking over his cock, making at least half the wet, sticky noise as he started to slam it inside her while she creamed herself stupid. At least thirty percent of it was his precum. She wondered if she'd get pregnant from that.

"You promise…?" She asked, in her own world at that point.

Peter pinned her against the wall and she felt his balls slap against the meat of her ass. His hands clutched possessively at her, digging into her flesh, heating her. She thought she lost consciousness again. "Promise."

She touched her pouty, reddened lips and rubbed them in plain sight while he watched. Then she sucked her fingers clean of the fuck-mixture they made. They were such a good team. "Seal it with a kiss," she said, and outstretched her arms. "Ready for the most awkward- _mh!"_

Peter's tongue was in her mouth again. Jessica thought she did a good job at fighting it back but she knew she didn't. At the very least she swallowed some of his saliva that he'd never get back, so who was the real winner there? " _Not… hahah,"_ she broke out into a spastic, fuck-drunken giggle-fit against him. "Not like that…"

Jessica pointed to her lips again, puckered them all romantic-like. "Like this."

She put her arms out again. And Peter kissed her. Again. Long and hot, soft, the wet smacking of their lips until they couldn't breathe. Her arms were around his neck. His were around her waist. The water was starting to get cold but Jessica didn't care. This felt… _right_.

More than a hundred billion… over a _trillion_ of his sperm had been all over her face. Jessica came, hard, thinking about it. About how it'd feel inside her. Her legs shook while Peter used her hips like handlebars. She held onto his neck like one too, gurgling. Was she going to get pregnant from this? From Peter? This was _so_ fucked up. _She_ was fucked up. _Peter_ was _fucking her up._

And it felt good.


	8. Bonding Part 2

**Bonding Part 2**

* * *

Jessica shifted on her feet. They were tingly, wet, and kind of cold. She felt her body herself listing off to the side. Next to her and half naked, Peter observed the bedroom of the suite with her.

It was like they were watching a car wreck together. Not a second went by that she forgot that at the beginning of the day she'd been a virgin and hadn't just fucked her twin. Now she was half naked, in an expensive hotel bedroom in Houston, Texas, dealing with the aftermath of a lusty fuckfest whose gooey conclusion was drifting out of her and down her leg.

 _'Dear Penthouse Forum…'_

Peter had slipped into a pair of boxers and given her a shirt. Having nothing else to wear Jessica accepted it gratefully. It hung off of her like a gown, made her feel warm inside. That may or may not have been solely because of the creampie still clogging her pipes.

Whatever primal lizard brain that made her think getting bred by her twin in a running shower was gone though, and underneath the shirt her nipples were swollen, grazed with light teeth-scratches. Her creamy breasts mauled, her ass and her pussy puffed up and abused. Her immaculate skin flushed.

Her eyes drifted to Peter, his body scarred with trophies of being Spider-Man, his neck and shoulder dark with hickeys, bitemarks, his back red with her fingerprints where her powers wouldn't let her let go and she wondered how the heck they got the progression so _backward._

First the blowjob, then shower sex. From the fact that she didn't know if she'd be a spider-mommy in 8 to 9 months because her natural human processes weren't naturally human to the fact that his cum was making her have mini-orgasms just thinking about it sliding out of her, this was all so, _so_ messed up.

And her pussy hurt. Story of her life.

She turned, looked at him, and her mouth fell open. "Uh… so," she started to whistle. "This is your room."

"…Yup," Peter said helpfully.

"Aaand I'm in it?"

"Yep. I think you are. Hope you are."

That encouraged her. No one had written a book on greeting your girl-clone/sister after months apart, sure. No one had made so much as a frigging pamphlet on what to do after having fat-balls to hot-box breeding sex in the shower either but she was doing good. They were, like, trailblazers and the Spider-people of the future with their clones would look to them for answers. Whether or not those people would be their children was a can of worms Jessica didn't want to touch.

Peter's bedroom was a mess. There was a ball of sheets in the corner. She instantly knew why. Just like their- his- old room in Queens. Jessica decided to lead with that.

"It's a sty. Some things never change, huh?" she laughed. " You um, you been having nice dreams?"

Peter's face soured a bit. "I dreamt about people being murdered," he said. "But other than that …Yeah."

"Tough crowd. I dream about… this."

"…Me too." Jessica thought it was the most awkward confession ever. She couldn't help but smile. "You… want to lay down?"

They looked at each other, then at the bed. "What, really?" she asked. "Like… together?" He nodded. " _Together_ together?"

"You could sleep on the floor if you want."

She put her hands up. "No, hey, the bed's… perfect with me. Fine. Great!"

"It's cold," Peter lied through his teeth. Had to be more than 85 degrees out.

"Right," she said. "Because we just got out of the shower. Don't want you to… catch a cold, Pete!"

"You either, Jess."

She laughed, hit him on the arm all playful-like. Like a rambunctious sister. Another thing they'd manage to get the progression wrong on. In her fantasies it'd been close siblings first, _then_ blowjobs, _then_ showersex, _then_ spooning and making sweet incestuous pillowbiting love in bed while Aunt May wondered what that sound was. Yeah.

' _Kill. Me. Now.'_

"Okay, so."

For a second she thought he heard her thoughts, was going to put her out of her not-quite-misery. Her second thought was if he'd do it by impaling her. She'd lost enough braincells and saliva in the shower that'd she'd either die by being run through, brain damage or thirst.

But Peter just had his hand out. Jessica grabbed it gingerly, like a bride stepping down the altar when she realized… he was pointing at the bed.

She popped her lips and Peter bit his. She noticed the hickey she'd left on his lip, his chin and neck, the bitemark on his ear. The mean looking bitemark on his shoulder that reminded when his cum had been flooding inside her and she saw stars.

She was fucked. "Um…"

Peter wasn't any better. "Uh."

Realizing they weren't going to get anywhere like this she dragged him to the bed. Peter had the same idea. Instead of taking charge and tossing the other one to the bed, ass over tea kettle they marched up to it and jerked. Jessica tried to be gentle. Maybe Peter had too, but while he stayed stuck to the ground she went flying, feeling the tingling feeling of her feet separating from the ground. Her powers messing up, her legs like jelly.

She hit the bed with a thump, scrambled up from the pillows and outsretched her arms . "Dude, what the heck?!"

Peter snickered and in seconds they were laughing. While he wasn't paying attention she snagged him with twin weblines and yanked him into bed and beat him in the face with a pillow. She may or may not have positioned herself beneath him. It could have just been coincidence.

"Great bed," she said, crawling out of her shell. It was easy to do with him on top of her, no reason for awkwardness. Just her, him, and a t-shirt and boxers between. Her splayed thighs tightened a bit around his, pulled him close.

"It's pretty nice," Peter said. She felt his hands go behind her back, large and nearly touching around her small waist. They separated when he dragged them down, feeling over her hips underneath his large shirt she wore where the skin was still sensitive, supple.

"How'd you pay for all this?"

"Don't ask."

"I mean, I was gonna say… Soft. It's soft. Expensive feeling. Warm…" she leaned forward, guiding his hips to hers. He started to rock against her. She started to roll against him. They built a rhythm and she watched as the boxers he wore got to cramped, yanked them down with her foot.

His lips touched hers, showing initiative while Jessica waited and took it, passively. On her back. It sent a delighted thrill down her spine when he started to peck at her pouty, pink lips, slowly working down her neck, her collarbone… "Like these?" He asked, when he reached her breasts.

He hadn't taken off her shirt. Jessica imagined it was a cheap wedding dress and he was going to smother himself in her bust. If she had one.

He rubbed his face against her tits. It was more gentle, softer than the unabashed fuckfest they'd had in the shower minutes ago. She doubted this would be taken to the ceiling, or the wall, and her face would edge up mashed against the wall or ceiling while he smashed her ass and made her crack the wall with barely restrained screams.

This was different. They were fucking before, now it felt more like making love. Weird coming from a spider-powered non-virgin teenager who'd lost her virginity to her twin's big cock in a shower somewhere in Houston, Texas. Weird with a capital W was becoming her favorite word pretty damn quick.

He pressed soft, faint kisses on the slight rise of her breasts, softly roving his face over them, barely touching her nipples. Jessica shivered. They were still sensitive. He kissed at them, capping off the press of his lips with a suck that made her groan. There wasn't any milk in them, and she wasn't going to be a mommy, yet, but that didn't mean she wanted him to stop trying. She'd gotten her fill from him after all. It was only fair.

"Yeah… like… those," she said, breathless, not worrying if her tits were too small because the proof was in the pudding. Peter was worshiping them, caring for them and putting himself in a position where he'd have no choice but to put himself in her. Again. Jessica was happy to be on team DFC.

His cock grazed against the crest of the meat of her ass, pushing, and the second he got into place she was locking him in. "You like them?" She couldn't help but ask. A soft, cute moan left her throat, scratchy sounding from her screaming and grunting earlier as Peter started to peel the shirt off of her. His hands left her hips and roved her toned stomach, the valleys of her tight abs to slide up her torso and gently squeeze at them. Jessica chuckled. "That's not a _yes_ …" she laughed.

Like a man possessed, Peter laid his face flat onto her nearly flat chest, breathed her in. Her scent, her skin, the feeling of her heartbeat. It was intimate, it was close, and- Jessica arched her spine- she was pretty sure it was making her cum, somehow.

"Too soon to tell," he said, and Jessica snapped.

She shoved his face between her smallish tits, pressing him there until he started to suck. Not even at the nipples, because they couldn't get the most basic of acts right. His lips latched on to the meat of her tit and vacuumed on it. She felt his teeth bite her, light, soft, not wanting to hurt her. They were _so_ backward now she wondered if they shouldn't be using her asshole to get them off. It'd go along with how fucked up they were. The thought of walking around with his load pent up inside her chute wasn't something she hated either.

"We got time," she said. She looked at the clock on the nightstand, by the bed. It wasn't even 3 o'clock but her and her twin were making after-fucking love. "We got time…"

Peter grunted his affirmative. His cock grazed up between the puffed up lips of her pussy and Jessica felt a jolt of electricity that crossed her eyes, made her nearly drift off. While her eyes- they more rolled to the top of her head than into the back of it- she could feel his juices, his precum leak all over her pussy. It was thick, hot, and when they got started it'd be one half of the frothed up fuck-mess that made her cream look like a river as it slid down his balls. That was Weird.

He lined it up and… Jessica pulled her hips away. Peter growled, frustrated, his self-control nil at this point. Just how she wanted it. Wanted him to be as desperate, as wanting as her.

She caressed his face. "It's okay," she said. It almost sounded like she was taunting him. The way his hands tightened at her sides told her he knew how to handle that, how to handle her. It made her delirious. "I just want..."

Letting her words hang she slowly her feet move and rise. Her legs bent at the knee and she nudged him at his sides and he rose, almost like he could read her mind too. Jessica's legs got between them and her feet gently touched down on his cock. First at the head, sandwiching it, then going back until one met the steel tight surface of his pelvic wall and the other teased his hanging testicles beneath.

If they really couldn't do anything right, why not have fun with it? Jessica had a feeling that her sense of fun with her Peter was just as twisted as she was. "Want to try something?"

Peter's face was confused. But not displeased. Jessica's feet were soft. Her durability and the fact that she hadn't been very active as a… Spider-Girl in months keeping them from being rough and calloused. And now she had the perfect chance to make sure they stayed soft. Au natural lotion.

"What… is this?" Peter asked. His eyes closed and he frowned against the pleasure.

Jessica chuckled. "It's a _footjob_ , dude."

"A what?"

Her mouth hung open. She hadn't considered the fact that she was the more perverted of the two of them. How could he not know what a _footjob_ was? Oh, right. He was a virgin, and she was a virgin. Out of the two of them though, she was the pervert.

As the pervert she was the one corrupting him, exposing him. Peter was innocent and Jessica's pussy liked that more than she thought it should.

"I'm… not sure this is a good idea," Peter said, pushing her buttons even more. She wasn; worried abou him referring to the two of them. That ship had sailed off with victory flags. He pressed his face into her tits again, dragged his lips down of her stomach where he kissed around her navel. "Having your feet around my balls isn't really a good idea, Jess."

He was _vanilla._ Well, as vanilla as small tits and incest. He was Adorable, as if she would hurt him. "I'm not hearing you complaining."

He kissed her bellybutton. "That wasn't complaining?"

"That was evading," she said, getting excited by their casual, conversational talk. She started to jerk his cock between the soles of her feet. "I haven't heard you ask me to stop."

Peter got the look in his eye that she felt she had. "Haven't heard me cum yet either," he said, and Jessica knew that was a lie. She heard him cum before, every time before. Maybe he was talking about in the shower though. Where she'd been preoccupied with the sticky noise his cock was making while it pouded her out, rather than the sound he made while his cum stuffed her good.

"Your feet have callouses. Kind of uncomfortably honestly.."

Jessica encapsulated his cock between her feet, and started to jerk it. "Ask me to stop."

"I'm trying to make you feel better about yourself," he said, pushing against the insistent gliding of her feet.

Jessica purred. On her back, she looked up at him, down at his hard prick between her soles, and laughed. " _Mmn,_ such a _good_ brother you are. I had the same idea…"

He started to rise up, crested her neck with kisses that made her body shiver. "Yeah?" His breath was hot, heavy in her ear.

" _Mmhm, mmhm!"_ Jessica nodded. "I think you deserve something good in return. Even if you did dust your balls inside me."

"That was because you locked your legs around me."

"You were _fucking_ me, Peter," she said, bit her lip, and accepted his kiss with one of her own.

"Because you bent over. _Then_ you spread your legs. Then you dragged me, by web mind you, to the _ceiling!"_

They were both grinning now. Like Cheshire cats. Jessica could feel Peter's hard cock pulsing between her feet- they so totally weren't calloused, they were soft, dainty, pretty, and like clouds- he just didn't appreciate his twin doing it like they did in the ero manga. Apparently she was the weaboo between the two of them. She licked her lips, watched as Peter's Adam's apple bobbed, and knew she had him.

"Break?" She asked.

Peter nodded. "Oh fuck yeah."

They jumped to the ceiling, Jessica was first. She positioned herself, outright suggesting that the time for soft, slow lovemaking was over. She hung on the ceiling by her finger and toe tips, her ass hang over the bed. Peter jumped after her, held himself up the same way and she saw stars the second he slammed it into her, more from beneath than behind. Doggy style on the ceiling was something she doubted Kitty Pryde could do for him.

If they weren't at the top floor people would have been complaining about the noise. Whatever wasn't nailed down was rattling like crazy though. She saw the clock start to rock toward the edge of the nightstand while her eyes rattled in her head.

It never managed to it the floor. Twenty minutes later Jessica felt like she was going to. Her fingers had torn off paint and chips of plaster from the ceiling, dug holes into it while Peter's fat balls bounced off of her pussy, not managing to hilt himself inside her completely but bashing her box hard and fast enough that his testicles were beating her clit down over and over again.

Her arms felt like jelly and she dangled from the ceiling by her fingertips. A pool of drool had collected on the bed and she felt like she was going to fall face first into a pool of her own drool if he wasn't beneath her. Peter smashed her ass hard enough for her to feel it between her ears like there was going to be bruising at the meat of her cheeks.

Her toes curled, his balls flush against her ass, pulsing, but he pulled out. She waited for him to finish her off but instead felt his cock nestle between her fat cheeks. " _H-Hey!"_ She shouted, feeling him spurting rope after rope up her asscheeks, back, and hair. The thick, chunky ropes sagged and fell into her shirt.

" _Peter- hngnng…"_ Jessica'seyes rolled into the back of her head as he popped the head back inside. She felt one, two ropes fire off inside her. The world went dark for a second while she creamed her brains out on her twin's dick, clenching and squeezing every last drop out of him. Felt herself twist, drop with him and hit the bed.

When she opened her eyes she was on top of him, chest to chest. Her hair was wet, again, and whatever she was wearing, Peter's shirt, was covered in cum, again. This time at the back, And her pussy was dripping his cum. Again.

She tried to kickstart her mental faculties. Wasn't going so good. It felt like she could barely count to the letter C. "Hnng… you-" she slurred. The words were there but her tongue wasn't. It flopped around inside her mouth.

Peter looked too smug for what he had done. She felt like kissing him. Her tongue slopped out uselessly over his lips inn a sloppy, wet kiss. He pecked at it and she giggled deliriously. "Yeah?" He asked.

Jessica paused to get hear mind back into her mouth, to save a few hundred braincells before they soaked into the bed, pushed out by her orgasm. "You… didn't cum inside."

Peter looked too innocent, she thought, for not having cum inside her. Jerk. She felt like kissing him for that too. "Didn't I?"

"Not… all of it," she complained, suddenly feeling the slightest bit awkward. She realized what she had a problem with and looked behind her at the thick, white ropes in her hair and how the shirt was stuck to her back and ass. "Now I'm all wet and sticky. You owe me."

"First time for everything. I got mushroom pizza. Want some?" He asked, though Jessica knew she'd already gotten some mushroom tip. Along with some not-quite-ranch dressing to go with her slice of pie.

She laid her hand against his chest. A second later she felt his hands start to go through her hair and caress her scalp. She wondered if he was going to make her use his cum as shampoo. …That was a thought.

"Still got webs in your hair," she heard him mutter. His arms were tight and sure around her. She could hear his heartbeat too, all calm, steady, and…

Jessica started to feel herself fall asleep. His fingers slid easily through her hair though, not getting snagged on her webbing. He was combing it out of her with his bare fingers. It made her look up at him, sleepy looking. "How'd-"

Peter dangled his hands in front of her face. The webbing she'd used to stop her hair from catching fire was a wad on his hands. She stared at it, saw it had cum collected on it like some hydrophobic material… and started to lick it up. Peter didn't seem to mind. She didn't stop until it was all gone.

Jessica nuzzled into his chest. "Huh…" She started to drift off again. "This isn't over. I'm not stopping until you cover cum all over me."

"I did."

"My _feet,_ doofus."

"…That's Weird. You're Weird."

She shuddered, smiled into his chest. "I… know that. Now cum all over my feet, okay?"

He hugged her. "Go to sleep, Jess." She did.

* * *

"Anymore mushroom?" Jessica asked. After she woke up the first thing on her mind was- well, the second thing on her mind was food. She was a bit surprised at the appetite she had but figured she shouldn't be. They'd worked hard enough.

The first thing on her mind was Peter's cock. It was nestled between her thighs when she woke up. He'd fallen asleep and they were curled up against each other, in bed. The clock said it had only been an hour but her body said it had been the best, longest nap she'd ever had.

They got up bright eyed and bushy tailed and Peter led her to the kitchen. She would have thought about how odd it was that he had a kitchen but she was hungry.

Still clad in his cumstained shirt- her cumstained shirt now, she supposed- and still leaking his cum while it dried on her inner thighs, Jessica pulled out a seat from the island counter and sat down. The quiet voice in her head telling her maybe it wasn't a good idea to keep getting creampied by her twin was almost silent now. Now it was wondering if she should feel bad about ruining the seat for the nextpeople to own the suite.

In front of her she had three plates. They'd been piled high with pizza slices before. She was on her eighth slice and still wanted more.

Peter looked up from his- Jessica counted five plates to her three. She still managed to eat more than him and wondered if all the pizza was going to go to her butt. He was a DFC guy but maybe he wouldn't mind a big fat pizza butt in his lap.

She watched him snag an unopened box to the table. He caught it soundly and she noticed for the first time he wasn't wearing webshooters. What he told her before she drifted off to sleep set in. How they managed to get to the suite from the HMC too.

"One more box. You owe me," he said.

Jessica nodded and, predictably, he was opposite her. Her mirror image, her twin. And predictably, her feet were on his cock while they had a twisted, Weird version of family dinner while she made good on her promised footjob.

"Not what I was talking about, Jess," Peter said, not bothering to stop eating.

"Uh, _hello_? I think I'm paying you back like, right now _,"_ she said with her mouth full. Pizza went flying everywhere. Peter held up his plate to block it. Jessica nudged his hard cock with her toes and gave it a ginger squeeze. She planted her foot against his cock and started to rub him down with the sole of one foot, then the other.

"If you giving me a- whatever, is owing me, then yeah," he said plainly, she was sure just to tease her. He opened the box of mushroom pizza. "Sure, for letting you rub my dick with your feet, you owe me even more."

"Poor choice of words," Jessica amended. "And it's a _footjob,_ you philistine."

"It's Weird." Peter smiled at her with his bright, light brown-hazel eyes.

She pressed on the underside of his shaft with her sole. "You are. Or you're supposed to be," she grumbled. "Your dick must have callouses or something. _I_ don't have callouses." Jessica smiled, encapsulated his cock between her feet, and started to jerk it. "I told you, you're gonna cum between my feet. So do it."

"I think we know who's getting more out of this now."

"Just shut up and cum all over my feet, okay? Dork." She knew that had an effect on him. Could feel his thick, viscous precum leaking out like a sieve from his cumslit, coating her toes so that she could her soles as they jerked up and down on his shaft. His cock throbbed and she teased the head with her toes.

He looked into her eyes. "I would if you were better at this."

Jessica propped her head with her hand, set her elbow on the counter. Lazy, like giving him a backwards ass handjob, but with her feet, was just hashtag NBD. "It's my first time," she said. "You took this away from me too. Now I'll never be able to get married."

"… _Nngh, what?_ What are you _talking_ about?"

She sped her movements up, her natural dexterity quickly making a rhythm of coaxing the cum out of her twin's balls with her feet alone and ignored the fact that out of the two of them, it was her that was the hentai watching weaboo.

Jessica distracted him by rolling the balls of her feet over his cockhead, slow and gently. Watching his face as he slowly gave in, his self-control crumbling because she _wanted_ this, wanted his cock to spurt all over her feet just like it had inside her. It had her hand working a frenzy over her pussy until his cum and hers were frothed up and everywhere. She might just need to keep it for herself to save the next guy the trouble.

"Nothing," she said, licking her lips. She watched him with her bright green hazel eyes, like a hawk. Or a hunter. She didn't know why she thought that. Didn't care either. "Just cum. Cum all over my feet, Peter. _Cum!"_

But he wouldn't. Frustrated that he had more self-control than a desire to give her an au natural lotion to keep her feet soft and smooth, Jessica picked up her own pizza slice. Then she dropped it.

"Needs seasoning," she muttered and looked at Peter. Even with her feet rubbing one out of him, for him, for her, he held his plate away from her.

" _Relax_ , I'm not gonna steal your dumb pizza _,"_ Jessica said, licking her lips. "You stingy dork."

Peter stuck his tongue out at her. She did the same, wanting to wrestle her tongue and his but they were too far apart to do it without losing rhythm, and he was getting ready to cum. She could feel it, _wanted_ it. Wanted him to cum while his balls pulsed and his cock throbbed between her feet. That was good for her, not for him since she knew at this point he'd have her on her back and she'd be seeing the inside of her head if he had the chance.

She took her plate and held it underneath the table, right in front of his prick. Her toes glided over his cum-slit as she felt it engorge and widen, massaging every smooth, bulging vein along the shaft. Jessica grinned, all casual. "So, hey, how do you feel about anal?"

" _Fuck!"_ Peter growled as he came. Jessica squeezed her feet around him tight and languidly coaxed more ropes of cum out of his cock. She could hear the sticky sounding _splat_ as it torpedoed against her pizza and feet. It hit so hard that it splashed upward in a long, slimy rope that sagged under its own weight to land on her wrist. The entire time her other hand was between her legs until she was crosseyed. By then she was watching his expression with one cheek to the kitchen counter, drooling stupidly all over it.

" _There we go_ …" she purred, jerking out the last few surges of cum until they were droplets falling to her plate. Her feet touched the ground wet and sticky, and inseminated. She wriggled her toes and brought her plate up. The pizza looked like what she hoped and knew her feet did- covered in Peter's natural dressing.

Peter watched her hungrily. She felt… like prey. Not the hunter anymore. Her eyes were distant, his focused while she brought up the defiled piece of food to her mouth, bit into it, and moaned like it tasted good, because it did.

" _Mmf!"_ She said, licked her lips as cum and sauce smeared around her mouth. "This is- _really good._ Not sharing, though. Get your own." She licked the pizza. "Owe you, kay?"

Between the two of them was a Weird sort of feedback loop that made them both laugh like morons.

She raised her coated feet into the air and rubbed them over each other like they were covered in sand while Peter accepted his momentary defeat. They were 1 to… Jessica decided to say 2.

"Fine…" Peter said, groaning to himself when Jessica raised her foot and played with his now spent cock. "Okay, now I think I really did dust my balls."

Jessica finished her inseminated pizza, thought up a name for it, and licked her plate and wrist clean. She touched her stomach. It was slightly swollen from all she'd eaten before, but the sperm-inundated food hadn't helped. She burped. "That's okay… I'm full now, I think."

Peter laughed, finished off his pizza. They both realized they were thirsty- Jessica more to wash down the chunks of cum and pizza that seemed like they were clogging her windpipe. He snagged open the fridge with a webline and Jessica snatched out a bottle of pop from the top shelf with one of hers. Working so in tandem with him, like when they took down Doc Ock together, was a feeling that she didn't know she missed.

Peter snatched the pop in mid-air and took a swig from it until it was about half. "Hey!" Jessica shouted and snatched it away and drained the rest. They burped at the same time and laughed.

She looked at his wrists. They were large and thick with muscle. Jessica knew it had to do with the organic webbing. Her fingers weren't like that at all and she didn't want to know why, but she was curious about why his wrists were and how.

Jessica was curious about a lot of things concerning him. The time for 20 questions between them had passed, but since they were doing everything out of sync she figured this would be a good way to segue into it… but had a foreboding feeling that it wasn't as simple as asking, "Where's Aunt May and why aren't you in New York anymore?"

"…So what's the deal with the- thingies? You copying me now? Is that it?" she asked. "Can't have a thing to myself. Got to share. We're twins, so I guess it works."

"They're new," Peter said. "A few months ago I got em."

She nodded, waited for the rest of the story. Peter opted to get a piece of mushroom pizza instead. "Yeah, and? How does a guy go from flinging handmade goo to flinging his own? …That sounds wrong."

"Happened a few months ago, Jess. Lot of stuff happened since," he said, cagey-like.

She looked him over. His height, his muscle, the organic webbing. "Yeah, I can see that," she rolled her eyes playfully. "Wanna talk about it?"

Peter stood up, eclipsing her, and grabbed the box of mushroom pizza. He started walking into the living room. Jessica just watched him go. "Let's just watch some TV, kay? Rot our brains together."

' _Guess that's a soft no,'_ she thought. She was confused. Why didn't he want to talk about it?

"Uh, sure thing," she said and walked after him. "Save some for me."

"Thought you said you were full? Get your own or you owe me one."

"I can pay you in footjobs so put me on a retainer."

They sat down on the couch next to each other. Peter put his feet up and Jessica laid on top of him. He was quiet as he flipped through the channels. Jessica barely registered him stopping on a news broadcast, something about Manhattan. She was already gone though, hugged him, and drifted off to sleep again.

* * *

Jessica woke up with her head on Peter's chest. His arms were around her and his hands were going through her long, brown hair. That was weird, but not bad. The soft, gentle rhythm of his breathing almost put her back to sleep. The TV was still on, too bright for her to make sense of it. She looked up and saw Peter's eyes were closed but had a feeling he wasn't asleep. That he hadn't slept.

She looked up, smiled at him. Then she saw a little webbing between his fingers. "Ugh, there was more?"

Peter dusted the webbing off his fingers like threads. "Yup. Got my own in my hair a few times."

"What hair?" He flicked her forehead, sticking the webbing to it. "Ow."

"Like I said before, found out I can wipe it away if I feel like it. Figured I could do the same for you, because, you know."

"That come with the organics?" He nodded. "Nifty. Wish I could do that…" She started to stretch and yawn. " _Mmm_ , what time is it?" She asked, smacking her lips. She tasted pizza, pop, and… semen. She'd need to brush her teeth before they kissed again. Would need to get a toothbrush. They were going to have a sleepover. Jessica smiled at that. Good thing too since she was functionally homeless in an unfamiliar city. Luckily Peter wasn't in her shoes.

"10:30," he said without opening his eyes.

"At night?"

"At night."

"I was asleep for… man, 8 _hours_?"

"Mmhm," Peter nodded.

"Did you get any sleep?"

He nodded a bit. "Not much. Didn't want to wake you, so."

Jessica turned and saw the TV had been muted. Then she realized there was a cover on top of them. She looked over the couch and saw several weblines connecting back to the bedroom. "It would have been easier to carry me you know."

"With your fat butt? Are you kidding?"

She nudged him. "You love it."

"Maybe." She felt a foreboding stirring between his legs. He opened his eyes, looked at her. "You're wondering what I'm thinking."

She laid her head back down. "Yup. How'dya figure?"

"We're twins." Hearing him call them that was a relief. "Got that Weird ESP thing going on. You get it too. I felt it. Tickles."

"So Weird, right?"

" _So_ Weird."

"…I hope I'm not becoming Jean Grey."

"Don't worry, you're not."

Jessica languished against him. "So what have you been doing all this time?" She meant all these months but knew he wasn't going to fall for that.

"Thinking. Bout today."

Jessica hissed. "Yeah… _yikes._ We uh… we did bit of a thing. Long day."

"We _?"_

She shrugged. "Mea culpa."

Peter started to sit up. She moved with him until she was in his lap against the arm of the couch. "We're probably on the internet right about now."

"Yeah?" She snickered. "Just realizing that, huh?"

"It's starting to set in now, yeah," he said. "Been avoiding the news because of that. …Huh."

"What?"

"We're… probably going to be a scene in New York."

Jessica nodded. She didn't fully understand. "Yeah, we-" She understood. "Oh. Oh man. Oh, crap."

They looked at each other. _"Aunt May!" "Kitty!"_

She pulled back. "Why am I the only one concerned with our Aunt seeing me take your money shot on live television? Or the internet?" Peter didn't answer. "Peter?"

He shook his head. "I look so different now that- no, probably won't even recognize me. Barely recognize myself," he muttered.

That brought up her other questions. "And why? And in what way is Kitty more important than _Aunt May_ seeing a Spider-Man lookalike get sucked on in a city that you're in? What if she connects the dots?"

"Not gonna happen," Jessica frowned. "…Jean Grey. Kitty is more important because of Jean _fucking_ Grey,"

It took her a moment to understand. Cussing wasn't her thing. Now seemed like a good time. "…Oh _shit,"_ she whispered.

Jessica watched a vein in Peter's forehead start to throb. "Yeah. What do you think is going to happen when the X-Men's resident telepath without a fuckingcause sees her friend's boyfriend getting sucked off in Houston?" He said with a tone mounting annoyance. "Nothing good."

"But you said you look different enough," Jessica reported.

"There's only _one_ of me. They can connect the dots."

Jessica shivered. "…Peter I don't want to be mindswapped with a female Wolverine."

"I'd rather be mindswapped with a female Wolverine than the regular one…" he muttered. "I hate telepaths. Does that make me speciest?"

"I think you have to hate mutants to be a speciest. And your girlfriend is a mutant, so…" she tugged at her collar. "Girlfriend... Uh, yeah, yeesh, um… me too. Want to go to Mexico? I don't think the X-Men go there. Language barrier."

Peter closed his eyes. He put his face to his hands and sighed. "Speaking of Mexico."

Jessica gasped. "The Gecko!"

"Salamander, actually."

"How did you-"

"His tattoo. You?"

Jessica grinned. "I got an A in an online Spanish class."

He stood up. Jessica followed him, instantly figuring now they were going to go out and sleuth. Pick up leads just like- well, not like old times. They'd never done that. Peter had. She wanted to do it with him .

She watched as he started to go through a bag of his for clothes, then get dressed. She almost did too, then remembered that she had no clothes to wear. She'd fallen asleep in his shirt too. Jessica peeled it away from her ass and back where his cum had dried.

"So, 9 times out of 9 our unfriendly neighborhood _asshole_ came from Mexico, right?"

Jessica nodded. "Right."

"Spoke Spanish. You know who else speaks Spanish?"

"…Mexicans?"

"This girl. Last night I was- doesn't matter what I was doing. I found this girl, Jess."

She raised a teasing eyebrow, elbowed him in the side playfully. "Should I be jealous?"

"I found her in a container full of dead bodies."

Jessica remembered all the police. The melted bodies. She looked horrified. "…By the docks?" Peter nodded. "That's where I fought the Salamander guy."

They came to the conclusion at the same time. Well, she did, had the feeling that Peter was playing catch with her. "He was looking for her!"

"She read my mind," Peter said, voice urgent. He tried slipping on something, a light blue hoodie. It was too small for him so he threw it aside. Jessica picked it up because it was the perfect size for her. "She's a telepath."

She suppressed a groan. " _What_ oh what would a bad guy want with a telepath?" she asked sarcastically and started going through his stuff too. Socks, two spare red bodysuit. She started to slip into one, planned to put the hoodie over it to keep from the cold. Then she realized his cum was still in her and bounded to the bathroom, taking off her shirt in the process. "Keep talking!"

The showerhead wasn't detachable. Jessica clung to the wall and spread her legs, turned on the shower, and flushed herself out. It was one way to get clean. "And I've been having these dreams!"

The water rained down on Jessica while she clung to the wall, legs spread above her head. She looked out the door where Peter roved through his bag. "Hey me too! On the bed or on the wall?"

"Both!" Peter said without missing a beat. They were on the same page. "Besides that, I had a dream about the fire! About this girl! They're connected!"

Jessica hopped out of the shower and dried herself off. Then, she was right back to his side. She picked up the body suit and slipped inside it. It was sized for a sixteen year old boy without much in the chest or ass department. She only fit one of those, so it was still a tight fit.

She slipped on the hoodie. Peter still hadn't found anything. "What's the plan?" She asked.

"Play 20 questions," he said. He turned, stopped when he saw her. "Really?"

Jessica looked at herself. "I like it."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Help yourself. I'm going to find something that's not spandex or dirty as all hell."

When he didn't, Jessica picked up a spare red bodysuit from the floor. It'd be a tight fit on him but she didn't mind. She swiped a black hoodie from the bag. "No," Peter said when he saw it. "No way in _hell."_

" _Come on…"_ Jessica teased. "What else you got?" Peter looked but found nothing. "Besides, we should go incognito after today. Unless you want people to point at us and ask for a second showing."

"Spandex isn't incognito, Jess."

"Still, you know you wanna."

He grumbled to himself. Jessica thought it was cute, put the mixing pot of a suit at his chest and he did the rest. He stripped down from his boxers- the only thing he wore- and squeezed inside. It gave her ideas.

"Gonna bake alive in this," he muttered. They had the same idea as they looked at each other and grabbed at the other's sleeves, then ripped, leaving them sleeveless. "Great. Now we look homeless."

"I _am_ homeless," she traded, laughing.

"Yeah, me too," he said, confusing her.

"…What?"

"Don't think we'll need masks," he said. His was all smoked up, hers was encrusted in his sperm. Jessica nodded, shocked. Together they started to walk toward the balcony. "You up for a nighttime stroll?" Peter asked.

"You up to eat my dust?"

"I'm up to eat your something, but if you think you can beat me-"

"I _know_ I can beat you."

"Your butt is going to weigh you down."

"If I win, it's going to weigh _you_ down," she taunted. "Bet?"

Peter pulled his black hood up. She pulled her blue one up. "You're on."

They walked onto the balcony and jumped. She was the first one to shoot, but Peter used his momentum to arc underneath her down by streetlevel, through the nighttime traffic. Jessica took a deep breath.

 _Houston._ It was turning out to be pretty great… but what did he mean when he said he was homeless?

Her blood froze over. _'No…'_


	9. Bonding Part 3

**Bonding Part 3**

 **Strays.**

* * *

In 24 hours Peter had managed to bust up and steal from human traffickers, rescue a girl from a box of corpses. Then he saved an old lady from being pasteified by a hummer, won a wrestling match with that hummer, blew $80 on crappy drinks, dreamt of the future, get set on fire. Killed the guy who set him on fire, got sucked off for his efforts. And fucked. By his sister and… her feet. Life was weird.

And Jean Grey was probably going to swap his mind with a fucking Chihuahua. Second guessed himself—maybe she wasn't that bad. Then he remembered she'd deliberately swapped Logan's mind with a random person that just happened to be him. The bitch could suck his dick.

Despite that he felt better than he had in a long time and he wondered why.

"Do you think it's chaotic energy?" The voice in his head asked. Hadn't heard it since he bodied the hummer. It had a name but ascribing a name to a voice in his head made him feel insane. Tickled his dislike of telepaths. Either way, Its name was Cindy.

Salamander was dead, wrapped up like a big firefly, probably burned up whatever oxygen he had left in the cocoon—and Peter felt the chaotic energy spread into him. It made him stronger, faster. Kicked the crapped out of wearing the black suit. And it was fresh. The Salamander had only recently bit the bullet. After all he'd done, trying to kill the girl, killing _Layton_ —the Mexican Human Torch died with a whimper. Couldn't have happened to a nicer asshole.

But Chaotic energy didn't make him feel good. It was a rush, made everything violently easy, like wearing the suit but 100 times better. Made him more brutal, merciless. Spidery. It left him feeling half empty and incomplete. Chaotic energy was a self–dealing drug that felt good even while it made the pain from everything else feel worse. Being disowned, losing those he'd lost. Letting them down. It bled into him in small amounts when he fought just to make it easier to kill. Killing, beating, causing pain—chaos, chaotic energy. Made sense.

Felt insidious to him. Didn't like it. Didn't want to be like the thing that killed Gwen. Didn't want to be a monster, but the chimera had to have gotten it from somewhere.

But this was the opposite of that. He still felt stronger, faster… more than with just the chaotic energy. Like it was added to it. Made him feel _better_. He wasn't thinking about any of that anymore, wasn't wondering if he needed therapy either. But maybe he did need therapy. Gratuitous incest could be right on the list beneath the abandonment, survivor's guilt, and PTSD.

Still, he felt content. Whole. And it was all because of Jessica. Because they _fucked._

' _And the title for brother of the year does not go to…_ '

Fucking his sister had been his therapy. And it worked _._ The Spider-People of the future with their problems would probably look to him and Jess for answers. Whether or not he got her pregnant smashing her ass in the shower, or on the ceiling, was a tossup. Could his day get weirder than that beforethose 24 hours were through?

Probably.

* * *

When they got to the HMC they crawled around the building looking for the girl's room. Peter didn't like that there wasn't a squad of cops around her. But it wasn't like anyone knew that the terrifying Gecko from El Salvador had been out to snuff her. All she had as her protection was a 17 year old homeless kid and his twin sister. He had a feeling that they were cutting it close on quality bodyguards, no offense to Jess.

The HMC was crawling with police anyway, taking reports, and firetrucks were still hanging around. Siren lights lit up the building like the 4th of July. People weren't going to forget what happened anytime soon. That had its downsides, but he didn't see any bodies being carted out, so there was that.

He and Jessica found the girl's room. Either pure dumb luck or he'd actually heard, _'Hombre… Arana? P-Peter?'_ in his head, all sleepy-like and relieved. Worried him that he recognized her telepathic signature or whatever.

The window was open a bit, locked in place for the rest. He touched the glass and pulled up, broke the lock like a chip. Learned that from having to sleep in abandoned buildings without making noise. Got a lot of practice.

The girl was on the bed, hooked up to some kind of respirator and IV drip. Wraps on her arms and shins—for burns, probably. Looked better than Peter remembered. None of the grime from swimming with cadavers. Clean, peaceful, her skin flushed at the nose and cheeks. Cute.

And the second he opened the window her eyes cracked open and scoped him. She smiled, all weak and feeble. His stomach managed to not turn. It was an improvement. He climbed in.

Jess stayed perched on the window, looking around the room with her hooded face. She whistled low, quiet. "Smooth digs. Swanky." Made him feel even better. Good enough not to think that mutant girl in front of him was another person he almost let die. Like Layton. He was having good feels tonight. Wanted it to stay that way.

"…Don't be afraid," he whispered.

She smiled weakly. _"Why would I be afraid of you?"_ He heard in his head. He had a few ideas why. He was used to it, to people not trusting him.

Peter he pulled back his mask- hood. One afternoon of being back in the mask got old habits up again, made him feel like Spider-Man again, so that sucked. There was no point in keeping it up when she could read his mind. He could see her eyes. In the dark they were deep. Bright and innocent. A light brown-hazel, like his. Her smile widened when she scoped his face. He wasn't used to the look of… whatever that was.

"Just wanted…" Wanted to know what the fuck the firebug had wanted with her. Why she was in a container being sold like a slave, _as_ a slave. Who had done it so he could break them and stop them from doing it again. Wanted to see if she was alright because letting one person die in a day had been enough for his quota of people to let down.

Jess climbed in behind him. Squeezed his shoulder, then hugged him. He had no clue why, but her timing was perfect. He took a breath. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

The girl started whispering something but he couldn't hear. He got close but her voice was weak, frail and dry. That happens when you're caught in a fire, he guessed. To his surprise, she kissed him. Right on the cheek. Her lips felt soft, but dry. Dehydrated.

" _Usted… me salvo… mi campeon."_ She passed out. That was becoming a trend.

Jessica hissed. He didn't know at what. Maybe she was jealous? "What did she say?"

He turned as the door opened. "…Layton?"

Officer Layton was there. Donald-Doc the doc, too. No charred broken neck. Not dead. First thing Peter felt was immense relief—wondered if Jess could feel it too it was so strong. First thing he realized was that he killed a man for no reason. Ben would be so proud. Thief and murderer. Hot damn, _that's_ how you raise a kid.

Second thing was that he had a good fucking reason. If Ben had a problem with it he had to wonder what the guy would have done if his nephew was ever in danger.

"I… I don't want any trouble," he said, looking at the man who by all rights seemed like a ghost. Made the old him come out, desperate to apologize for any mistake. Be a good kid and get those head pats from your Aunt and Uncle. "I'm sorry." Pissed him off because he meant it. Not taking the money when Layton offered, being a… who he was.

Didn't click until seconds later that Layton hadn't known it was him. Third thing Peter realized was that he should have kept his trap shut. "You're the-" the cop's mouth was open in shock. "Well, that makes sense…" He stepped in the room, smiled. "Don't want to give you none. Never did manage to give that money back to you either. Seems like a just reward for saving someone." Peter wished all cops could be like him.

The Doc stepped forward. "The entire city knows what you two did today." He sounded kind.

Jess still held his shoulder but Peter felt himself relax. The kindness from the girl, shock and relief from Layton… Wasn't used to that, made him antsy. In a good way. "Good. Fine," he said, stiff. Awkward. "Leaving town."

Layton looked disappointed. "You are?"

"We are?" Jessica asked in surprise.

"Mexico's still on the table," he muttered. Her face contorted cutely.

"Why?" The doc asked. Wasn't an easy way to explain being afraid of a telepath hunting him down because he cheated on his estranged girlfriend. Mexico was sounding better and better. Maybe he _was_ just being paranoid.

"I didn't- never meant to- It's complicated," he said.

The doc looked him over, stepped forward, and grabbed his face. Did the same to Jess too. They felt like chastised children, Peter could feel it. And when the doc tutted at the hickeys and teeth marks on them. They wanted to crawl into a hole. Peter half hoped he hadn't seen their similarities with their hoods up but three-quarters didn't care. "Please stay," the doc said.

"You don't want that," he said, actually chuckling. "Seriously."

"This isn't New York. Houston doesn't have any superheroes. And we sure as heck need some. Mayor Reilly'd probably even give you two the key to the city if you stayed," Layton said.

"Mayor Reilly. …Huh." He felt Jess stiffen next to him. "Even after today?"

Layton rubbed his neck. "… _Well,_ it'd be personal. Like a drive thru. You saved a hospital full of innocent men, women, and children. And at least one gangbanger. I don't think there's any law about public indecency. Even if there was the Mayor won't just let this go without recognition. Trust me, I'm a cop."

Good cop, little white lie. "That's patently untrue," Peter said, smiling. "Probably got enough recognition by now anyway. I think I should leave before you get tired of me."

"And your partner?" Layton asked, looking to Jess. She'd been behind and at Peter's side the entire time.

He shrugged. "That's up to her. If she wants to stick around-"

"I go where he goes," Jess said.

"You heard the lady."

"So you'll leave? Like you did in New York?" Donald asked. Wasn't accusing, Peter had a feeling he said it just to segue into what he said next. "You are him, aren't you? That's why- with the webs. You're him. Spider-Man."

He cringed at the name. It was an improvement from grinding his teeth. Jess grabbed at his hand, made him feel better. "…Does it matter?" He asked with more patience than he had for the name.

"W-Well, you're just so… young."

Fury told him at 21 he'd be property of SHIELD. May kicked him out. Ben was dead. Did Black Cat count? If puking on his cock was a way of saying he was too young, she did. Funny how the only person that ever said that to him was Daredevil. Peter wondered how the scarlet blindster was doing. Hopefully Matt Murdock hadn't died too.

He saw his mistakes play out in front of him. Still felt good. Layton was alive, at least. Managed to save him, save the girl. Wasn't feeling like a complete fuckup for once, hoped it lasted.

"Donny, not now." Layton admonished the doc.

Something clicked. He looked at Layton, eyebrow raised. "…You told him." Layton's guilty look was loud. All he needed to hear. He sighed. " _Really_?"

"It's not his fault, I asked," the doc said. "A young man comes into the hospital with a near dead girl in his arms, of _course_ I'll want to know. He's a cop, I'm a doctor."

Jess stepped up. "This happened at the hospital?"

"I thought you two were _partners?_ Tell each other everything," Layton said.

He had a bad feeling this was going south. "Why would you think that?"

"She- you know…"

Donald looked down. "The entire _town_ knows, Wally. They don't need a reminder."

"We _are_ partners," Jessica explained, turned to him. "So I'm wondering why they know you were _disowned_ before I did. When were you going to tell me?"

Peter slowly turned to look at Layton. "This is your fault."

"I-!"

"It was before I even knew you were in town," he said, swallowed and felt like it was a melon.. "Didn't wantyouto know. Kind of an awkward conversation piece."

How had she found out- he let his tongue slip earlier. That's why she was holding onto him like something fragile. Out of care. Made him feel like a kid, but good at the same time. Jesus car-tossing Christ.

"I think you should stay," the doc said. "You're too young to be on your own-"

"And what? Get adopted? Thanks, really, but I just wanted to come check up on the girl and make sure she was safe _._ " He tried to run his hand through his hair but Jess wouldn't let go. "That's all. I appreciate it but I'm _fine._ I don't need a… whatever this is." He turned to Layton. "Keep the money. Try using it to buy a zipper for your mouth."

He was fine. He was joking now. Felt good. No one believed him though. The doc looked at him too much like Ben did whenever his nephew got frustrated, angry. Too understanding. Layton gave that same look reserved for teen runaways. Jessica tried to get him to look at her. If it was possible, because it was, he felt Houston's resident telepath in his head, clutching at him even though she was out cold.

And the royal bitch herself, Cindy, joined in too, completing the pity party circle. Peter hated it.

"Well she's not. She's alive," the doc said. Good change of subject. "But she's an illegal. Wally says she'll be sent back across the border."

" _What?_ You can't do- you don't know what she went through. I _saw_ it! The bodies! You can't send her back to that, to people that _abandoned-_ " and just like that he was face to face with his own issues. He really was messed up, wasn't he?

"Sucks, doesn't it?" Cindy, in his head, said. "Want to talk about it or you wanna rail your sister some more?"

Awkward silence. He sighed. All the pitying looks made him feel like crawling into a hole.

"Actually I said she'd _probably_ -" Layton said. He was Peter's new favorite. His foot was stomped on by his husband. "I'm an officer of the law. There's nothing I can do. A vigilante, though? That's a different story."

Peter gave him a wan look. "Really, man? Just gonna roll over like that?"

"He makes my dinner. Nothing I can do."

"And if you two need dinner I can make it for you," Donald said despite Layton's "Just not French toast," comment.

Peter contemplated jumping out the window. Knew he couldn't do it. Jess wouldn't ever let him get that far. She was stuck to him like glue. He was glad for that. "I don't have anywhere to put her." Knew it was a bullshit lie. Couldn't commit to it. "…Unless I sleep on the ceiling."

"You can do that?" Layton asked, turned to Jess. "He can do that?"

"We both can do that." Jessica intertwined her fingers with his, rubbed her thumb over his. "Or something. Dibs on the couch."

Peter just looked at the girl. She was smiling, looked so peaceful in her sleep. As if no spicy hotheaded jackass had tried to kill her hours before for God knew what. He didn't even know her name and- was about to play Oliver and Company with her? A spider-powered teen and a teenaged mutant… telepath. Called him her champion. What the _fuck_ did that mean? That he had to be as high as a kite to even consider it. And whatever this was, chaotic energy, not chaotic energy, he was feeling pretty up there.

"We can help. If you need money-" Layton offered.

"We don't."

Jessica clicked her tongue. "Uh… we don't?" She pulled up to him, standing on the tips of her toes.

He smirked, squeezed her hand. "No, we don't. What time is it?"

Layton looked at his watch. "… 11:58. Why?"

He let out a low breath. "Called it," Cindy said.

* * *

Back in the hotel suite Peter looked at his hands. One held a baggie for medication for the girl, from the doc. Had $20 in his other hand. Fished it from his pocket, hadn't realized until he left that Layton had slipped it in there. For a good cop he was scary good at reverse pickpocketing.

"It's called tantric energy," Cindy said. Hated talking to her because it wasn't telepathy. It was worse. Sounded like she was right in the room with him. Next to him and in his ear. Only way he could talk to her was out loud. Made him feel insane.

She sounded petulant. "Opposite of chaotic energy. Happens when you fuck. Wanted to do it with you but whatever. You do you. Go on, fuck your sister while I _wait_ here and stay virginal. Jerk."

He rolled his eyes. Tantric energy? …He could get used to that. "…Thanks, Cindy," he muttered awkwardly. Regretted it because he instantly got back, "Holy crap you're talking back!" And then he wasn't. "Oh come on!"

He ignored her. Her voice faded into the background. They'd need to buy clothes. Stuff for Him, Her, and little what's-her-name, the mutant telepath. Peter shook his head, sat on the couch. "I need a drink," he muttered.

He didn't really. Going down to the bar just seemed like something a person in his situation would do. If they had spider-powers, just railed their clone, and was officially playing the dog from Oliver and Company. It was something he would have done if the tantric energy wasn't lifting his spirits up. If Jess wasn't there maybe he would have taken that bartender up on her offer and lost his virginity another way. Now he just wished he'd taken the bartender—Anna May, or something?—up on her offer for coffee.

And what _was_ that dog's name again? He loved that dog.

"Man, you _drink_ now too?" Jessica came in from the bedroom, chased by her voice. "What _else_ aren't you telling me?"

Jess had been teasing him about keeping secrets since they got back. He carried the girl, she carried the food the doc had given them. It was hospital food and vending machine junk, but it was better than bologna sandwiches. She still didn't know about his resident Jiminy Cricket. That'd go over well. "Hey, sis, we had sex but I'm also haunted by a voice in my head. Want to meet her?"

It had been easy to fall into rhythm with her. Like they were just siblings. They were. They just fucked—he was hoping it was a regular thing—and were about to play alternative family with a Mexican mutant stray. Maybe they could get their own sitcom.

Jess was standing in the huge doorway to the bedroom, her hands out at either side. Hip popped to the left, foot arched, blue hood and brown hair framing her face. Large, sparkling green-hazel eyes. Wide. Cute. The hood was still up, made her look angelic and punk-alt at the same time with her pouty pink lips and cute all over look, with a mouth for jokes.

That did something for him. Looking at her made that… feeling start. Felt better, _good_ -er. Stronger, faster, the whole nine yards like tantric energy came in trickles too. Maybe it did, because he was feeling happy like the last near year hadn't happened and his type wasn't his sister. Wouldn't have cared if it was though, and it was.

She must have been a fraternal twin/clone because after looking at himself in the mirror he was having a hard time figuring out how she came from someone like him. Where Jessica was soft he was hard. They were opposites, some real poetic yin-yang crap going on there. They'd looked like each other before but he looked older now. Less like a twin and more like an older brother with a heavy family resemblance and a habitual—now semi-habitual—frown.

He wondered if they'd been girls, would Tarantula and Quasimodo have been like her too? All cute and prone to fuck around with him- _eugh_ , he wasn't touching that can of worms. Didn't need to think about whether or not his monster-boy clones would have made cute monster-girls. Like they and Jess had been spider-powered triplets.

…Girl-Quasimodo would look all pitifully cute. Girl-Tarantula would… have six arms. Probably try to eat him.

On Jess the hood hung off at the top, loose and slipshod at the neck—didn't have the shoulders for it. She was slender, lithe—until her hips. She was pear shaped and curved, carved right out of his dreams. The hood was tight enough up that he could see the limited swell of her breasts—yeah, he had a type—but stopped up at the back where the rise of her ass said "Caution: Junk in the trunk ahead."

Still fit her more than it did him. She had to be 5'7, maybe 5'8 while he'd gained nearly a foot in height. It was _his_ hoodie though, and she was wearing it. Was wearing his bodysuit, which objectively objected at how it was forced to stretch around her cheeks at the back and hugged her tight at the front. …And she wasn't wearing any underwear either. His dick was getting hard.

Peter cleared his throat, looked at his standing prick. Wondered if he was normal enough to be a sexually pent up teenager. Or if he was just a nympho for his twin. Strangely comforting thoughts.

Jess laughed. "No, please, keep staring. Being looked at like a piece of meat by my brother while his penis is hard isn't _Weird_ at all," Jessica said, smugging up a storm. She dropped her foot and her lower half jiggled in the scarlet wrapping of her suit. She leaned forward, was like a magnet for his eyes. "Thinking dirty thoughts yet?"

He thought about them going at it again without meaning to. Just wanted to see what it would look like when she peeled out of that home-less-made suit. Then they were right there on the floor. Wall, maybe. Ceiling definitely, so gravity could drop her tiny tits right on his face. Rip a hole in her scarlet suit like she'd done him, just enough to get her plump and beaten pussy, out. Breathe her smell, her scent in, stuff her good. Toss off the hood and squeeze her tits through the suit, suck her nipples until they were swollen and sore.

"…More or less," he said, knowing she could tell. "You?"

Jess covered her front with the hood, covering the beading wet spot of her juices that began to darken the red suit. "More or less." She dusted her hands. "Well, sleeping beauty is now in bed."

"Tell me you didn't cover her up with those covers?" He asked. She looked anywhere but him. "I jizzed in those. This kid- she was in a container like…" his stomach turned. Wanted to say "People-flavored sardines," but he couldn't manage it. "Jess, we can't just put her in," and he wanted to say "those kinds of conditions," too. Ended up saying, "That shit."

She raised a hand. It fell. Her mouth opened. "First, kid? She's the same age as us. Second, she… was out of it, so."

He felt a 'but' there. "What does that matter?"

"She was uh… you know. Touching. Rubbing. Touching and rubbing. Like you do- well, like _I_ do. With… _that_ part of the cover in her hands."

His hand smacked his forehead. Would need to start the weird counter for the next 24 hours. "…What the _fuck?_ What kind of kid did I just take in? _"_

"Another one with a predisposition to your sperm," Jess said, helpfully. "And once again, she's the same age as us. Also, _'I'?_ "

"This is my place," he said. "You don't even pay rent."

"I can pay you in footjobs and other types of outercourse. For a limited time offer I'm offering twin-intercrural sex."

"What about regular sex?"

"That's implied. We're twins. I'd be an awful sister if it wasn't."

"Best sister ever," he said sarcastically. "Freeloader."

"Well duh. I sucked your cock on our first date."

"Some date."

Peter sat down on the couch and put his feet up. Jessica followed, sat on the couch, put her feet in his lap. She bobbed them, wriggling her toes through the material and teasing him. "You think I'd be cute if I was jealous?" She asked.

His eyes went from the tips of her toes to her calves, up her thigh to the part of her ass he could see just above the couch. "No," he lied.

She plucked at the suit like it was a full-body thong. Then she pushed it between her cheeks like one too, tugged it at the top. "You think I look cute now?"

He leaned back, put his arms behind his head. Could see her getting wetter and wetter. "More or less," he said. Switched gears. "You just _had_ to say we'd take the couch, didn't you?" He said, like his dick wasn't still hard.

"I said _I'd_ take the couch. There's only space for one of us."

"I'm not sleeping on the ceiling. Done that enough."

She looked hurt. For him. Either the tantric energy got rid of what he felt or it just numbed him to it and she could feel stuff he didn't even know he felt. Twin-ESP was Weird.

Sighing to himself Peter pat at her thigh, lingered too long for it to be platonic. Watched her lick her lips, then. It was slow. She was looking at him how he had looked at her, like a piece of meat while her pussy was wet, and getting wetter. Started to rethink which one of them was the nympho for the other. Nymphet.

"Well there's only space for _one_ of us," she said. "Looks like you'll have to sleep on top of me…"

She got to her knees and leaned in. He met her in the middle. She gave a quick suck on his bottom lip. He only nipped at hers, pulled away when her tongue came out licking his lips and her eyes looked drunk. Her body said she wanted to pounce him. He had a feeling she'd drop on him. "You say that like it's a bad thing," he said.

Jess groaned. He could feel, the switch flipped in her. She closed her eyes… then she pulled away. Not far enough to alleviate the soft, yielding pressure of her ass on his crotch. Not far enough to re-center herself as 'they needed to talk'. Just enough that the heat between them, her breath in his mouth, his in hers, went cold.

" _That's_ not the bad thing," she said, panting a little. Gave a soft sigh while she rocked against him. Amateurish but she was learning quick which way felt best… for her. Used him like a bemused human-dildo.

" _I'll_ tell you the bad thing. All that stuff about being _disowned._ Huh? You'd think a guy would tell his _twin sister_ that, right? I mean, I would. If I was a twin brother and not- I'm rambling. And horny." He kept quiet. She looked at him expectedly. "Well?"

"You're rambling slightly better than average. Wouldn't say 'well," he said helpfully. "I think you need to get your priorities in order."

She groaned some more, pressed down on him at the shoulders, ground her pussy against his crotch, his cock flat against his steel-hard abs for seconds before she pushed off, shaking, The suit was soaked through and his dick was leaking like a sieve, but she was the only one that managed to get off.

"T-There," she said with a shaky breath. "I-I'm… I'm gonna go sit on the ceiling now."

"You stingy bi-" She stuck her tongue out at him as he looked up at her. "We could just skip this, you know." he said. Said a lot about him that even after taking in a stray, while being a stray, he wanted to go back to his illegally paid for hotel suite and fuck his twin sister, who was also a stray. Not have a heart to heart.

He didn't need one now. Felt great. Amazing. Felt like he could put the entire 'my Aunt abandoned me' behind him.

"Peter…"

"It's not that important Jess."

That seemed to burn away whatever lust clouded her mind, him too. Wondered if it was the chaotic energy. Stuff made everything too easy. Could it make going from casual conversation with your twin to breeding sex too easy too? It wasn't fucking communicable though so no, this was something else. …Maybe they just had a natural inclination to fuck each other's brains out. He didn't mind.

"It _is_ important!" She exclaimed. "Frigging _why_ didn't you tell me?!"

"Before or after we fucked? Because for that first part, we were kind of, you know, on _fire_. Then we were just hot and heavy."

Her shoulders dropped, "Funny. You know what I mean. You could have… just said something. At any point- _ah!"_ she dropped a finger to cut him off before he could even open his mouth. " _After_. Did you not think I'd care or something? Peter I… _care_ about you."

It was an Oh… Shit, moment if there ever was one. He felt it, she did too. "Kind of hoped you would. We banged enough. And we're twins," he muttered.

"Come on, no, it's not just that… I don't-" Jessica shook her head. "I'm not gonna say _that_. We're weird enough as it is, right? I'm not gonna say it. Don't _need_ to say it. But… you feel it too, right?"

What did he feel, even with the let's-fuck switch off? Like he had with MJ, Kitty, except… more. Extremely happy around her. Better than ever before. Not just faster, stronger, but… a better him like the last 8 months hadn't happened. Like Ben wouldn't, ironically, be ashamed of him. Like he was connected or something.

Stuff that just wasn't platonic or redneck twin love or… whatever a guy and his clone had. Masturbation. He had really, really… Weird feelings. The kind that seemed stupid when a four letter word was used to describe them by a teenaged castaway.

"I do," was all he said. Didn't want to leave a doubt in her pretty head. Could feel her relief. She wasn't going to kill herself out of embarrassment now—or try to, because fuck everything if he let her so much as think about it.

"Good, good… And really, so, _so_ Weird." She laughed awkwardly, grinning at him from the ceiling. "You and I dear brother, are so, _so_ Weird."

"Brother?" He asked, teasing.

She bit her lip. "Too weird?"

He shook his head, "Perfectly _Weird_."

"Oh, so you like that, huh? When I call you _brother?"_ She dropped gracefully. He watched every contour of her body work and coil and uncoil when she put all of her weight on him. Landed with an _"Ooph,"_ and her lips traced his right after, panted hot breath into his mouth. "Did you like it when I made you _cum_ in me, brother? When we kissed? When you came on my face _?"_

He put his face in her chest. At her chest. Wasn't like she had anything up top to put his face into. Her butt was a different story, but he could feel her nipples get hard from the contact, all suckable and perky when her small, pert tits were on his face.

Jessica shrugged like she was at the end of her rope. "And here we go again. See what I mean? Weird." She was panting, just as switched on as he was. Grinding her ass against his hard cock as she talked, her suit soaked at the crotch. His fingers dug into the soft meat of her thighs and ass hard enough—stuck enough—to leave pinkish marks.

"Guess we're just a pair, huh?" He asked, voice muffled. Gripped her hips and set her to rocking. Started to raise his hands when she got the rhythm on her own. At the beginning of the day they'd both been virgins but somehow they knew what the other liked to the crossed T's and dotted I's.

" _Ungh…_ Mmhm, yeah, we are," Jessica nodded, lips pursed. "Just you and me… two homeless spider-twins. And one of us was disowned."

Peter pulled away, rolled his eyes. "Damn it Jess…"

"I'm sorry, would you like me to not be too good a sister who still wants on an explanation on why my dear _brother_ was disowned?" Jessica said sweetly. "If so I have bad news."

"You're pregnant?"

She didn't miss a beat. "I will be if we keep up like this," she muttered. "At least I'll feel like I am. Still stuffed from that pizza. Oof."

He grabbed her hips, pulled her close again. Felt more like when they were on the bed now. Calm, serene. Not ball-churning. Thought about how to put it into words if she wanted to know so much. Making an offhanded comment and letting it ride wouldn't cut it. "I was disowned because apparently I wasn't loved very much," wouldn't either. Jess wanted to know but here was no easy way to just say it, even if he kind of did want to tell her. Just to get it off his chest. Felt the best he had in a while mentally and emotionally. If there was a time for it, it was now.

Peter looked into her eyes. Jessica was… Jess. She wasn't like him, he didn't want her to be. Didn't want her to see Aunt May the way he did now. He wasn't attracted to a female version of him, or just his twin. He was attracted to her and for some reason that just… _clicked_.

She took his hand into hers but it was small. Took both of hers to cover one of his. She looked delicate on his lap, her long hair streaming over her slender shoulders. He'd seen a view like this in his dreams. Had those been visions of the future too? Her thighs were astride him… and her ass was so _fat,_ but she wanted to know about how he'd been abandoned by the woman he considered his mother.

She touched her forehead to his like she could feel how uncomfortable he was. They both laughed slightly. This was what was uncomfortable, not that he was sporting wood while having his twin's ass made of clouds on his crotch while they talked about it. Good feels, all tingly. Opposite of platonic and Weird with a gigantic W. His dick hurt. Story of his life.

"Please?" She asked, voice soft.

He sighed. "Where do you want me to start?"

Jess bit her lip—right where he had nipped her. "From the beginning."

Peter nodded. "Alright. Get the world's tiniest violin ready. And the beer."

She smiled. "We don't have any beer. And you can't have any."

"Well shit."

"We oughta start a swear jar for you too…"

* * *

 _A/N: Guest reviewer this one is for you. Also I hate to ask but I would greatly appreciate if more of you left reviews. Thank you to those that have. I appreciate, and enjoy, the feedback and kind words._


	10. Bonding Part 4

**Bonding Part 4**

* * *

 _Eight Months ago._

The last few nights Peter slept at home. No, not home. Aunt May's house. Her home, not his. Not anymore. She was still in the hospital. Hadn't seen her yet. MJ was under house arrest. Hadn't seen her yet either. Didn't have the guts to look her in the eye after what she'd been through. Because of him.

He felt like an intruder in his own home because of that. Not his home, May's. And who could blame her? Everything that he brought into that house, every tragedy from Ben's death to George Stacy's to Gwen Stacy's… almost came full circle with May's. It had with his. He watchedhimself die. Twice. He was going to need _so_ much therapy for that.

He hadn't spoken to anyone since... that _girl_ version of him skipped town. Things passed in a blur after that. Came home- back to the house. May was gone, Fury's cleanup crew was clearing out. The lawn was fixed. Neighbors ushered back into their homes.

Fury was there at the end of it all. Peter snapped, told him to leave and never come back. _His_ fault, he said. _SHIELD's_ fault. But Peter wasn't their responsibility. His problems weren't. The problems he made weren't, they were all his. It wasn't SHIELD's fault that May suffered a heart attack, or that the _thing_ that murdered Gwen Stacy came back to haunt them. It was all Peter. Realized that halfway through and Fury just gave him this _look_ before he did leave.

Sue Storm herself had come around after that, dressed casual. Incognito. Sat him down and filled in the blanks of what happened to his 'father'. The clone that thought he was Richard Parker. He withered away and died on a rooftop.

Peter had barely said a thing after that. Managed to die three times in a single night. That was… that was _great._ Sue saw herself out.

He hadn't left the house since. A week or close to it had passed and May was still in the hospital. He was too scared to see her, too scared to make things worse. After that, mail piled up. Peter packed and repacked his bags again and again. Could still hear everything she said. Not welcome in her house. He hugged his dad then, thought he was alive, thought he still had family. The night was… going downhill, but hey, _Gwen_ was back! _Dad_ was back. Maybe Harry would come through the door.

And then it was all just taken away.

He left on a Saturday night. Ran through the motions, brushed his teeth, brushed his hair, showered. Looked outside, saw the lights from MJ's room. She called, he hadn't answered, couldn't. Anna Watson had her under lock and key, and for good reason. Who knew how many insane clones of Peter Parker were waiting in the rafters to snatch his ex-girlfriend up?

He left the suit behind. A costume, catalyst for problems, that was all it was. Brought the mask, the webshooters, for… he didn't know why. Maybe he'd need to play hero. That was rich.

From Queens he walked through the darkened streets for a bit. Weird, not unsettling. Could defend himself. Seemed he was the _only_ person he could defend. Couldn't even do that right, though. Not when he'd been shot to death and impaled on a wall like a corpse-themed X-mas ornament, and faded to dust in downtown Manhattan rooftop.

Peter was already at the bottom of the barrel and took to the skyline, made his way up and across the rooftops where no one could see. Headed downtown where he told himself he'd go for the last couple of days but hadn't managed it. Sue had asked him to stop by, check in. Had that same look of pity that Fury did. He went over the excuses in his head. They'd understand. The last week had been _crazy_ , couldn't blame him for having time to himself. Not after he died three times and found out there was a version of him with a labia instead of foreskin.

It wasn't until the Baxter Building came into view that he realized he was in Manhattan already. He remembered it had to be after midnight. Wondered if they expected him. If he was welcome or if he'd be a burden. The second one probably.

Peter remembered what happened the last time he had landed on the window of the 'building with the highest security on the planet'. He hung from an awning by web, absently splat the windows with webbing and watched it sizzle and bubble as it was electrocuted. It gave him an idea for grounded webbing that he could use but he wasn't in the mood for inventing things.

In his reflection he saw himself. Dressed in regular clothes—sweatpants and a t-shirt and jacket—with his mask and that was it. Left the costume on his bedroom floor.

Then he saw Johnny Storm. The youngest member of the Fantastic Four waved at him, caught fire, and sped to turn off the security measures and open the window. One did open and Peter squeezed through before opened all the way.

The inside of the Baxter Building was nice. Like someone mixed a laboratory with a rec room. He hadn't managed to scope it the last time he was around, carrying… himself, and all. With everything going on he forgot about the last clone—gave him a headache-and promptly made himself forget again. Another insane clone? MJ was so screwed.

"Hey man!" Johnny greeted. "What's going on, how ya been?" He caught fire. "Burning the midnight oil, eh?"

Peter smiled faintly at the joke. That was a polite way of asking 'How do you ever go back to normal life after finding out you have _clones?'_ Peter supposed.

He took his mask off. Enough people knew his identity already. It felt good not wearing it, not being Spider-Man… he could get used to that. "Been… Y'know."

"Yeah," Johnny nodded. "Crazy stuff, right?"

"Right."

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. "…We were on a living planet _."_

Scrounging up what good cheer he had, Peter managed to smile. "I don't know how to break this to you matchstick but… we're on a living planet right no _w."_

Johnny shoved him. "No, come on! Seriously! Different ecosystem-"

"Solar system."

"-Galaxy or whatever. It _talked!"_

"It- a planet _talked_?"

"…I think it talked."

"Maybe the Native Americans were onto something," Peter sighed. "Or maybe you were smoking something."

"I'm _always_ smokin', man," Johnny said proudly.

Talking planets, what was next? Genetic abominable chimeras that sucked the life out of people. Coming this fall. The last few days went through his head and wiped the smile off his face. "Well I… I fought vampires, so there's that."

" _No freakin' way!"_ Johnny exclaimed, immediately believing him. After everything Peter wasn't sure how to deal with that kind of trust. "An actual _freakin' vampire?_ Reed says they're fake! Well, the ones vulnerable to garlic and everything. "

"I said that they're a product of constantly changing stories, Johnny," a voice said. Reed walked in from one of the hallways. "Vampires do exist… in the scientific sense. Parasites. Hello, Peter."

' _Yeah, I know about parasites. I'm one of them.'_ Peter waved.

"Yeah, well _this guy_ fought one!" Johnny said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

"More than one," he said.

"More than-"

"A few," Peter said tightly.

"No way."

Peter rubbed his neck at that and felt the scar tissue where the vampire's fangs had sunk into his neck just the week before. The bite hadn't completely healed and he wondered if it ever would. Still wondered if he'd wake up sucking blood from someone's neck too, but at least now it couldn't be the people he cared about. Ben was dead, Gwen was dead, Harry was dead. Aunt May was in the hospital, almost dead. MJ was… better off without him and Kitty could phase through him. He could still walk in sunlight though so that was nice.

" _Holy crap!"_ Johnny shouted. "That's amazing!"

"It really kind of isn't," he sighed. "Friend of mine got bit and I... I was almost the reason he got turned into a vampire. Permanently."

"You can _turn_ into a vampire? They don't just eat you or get born into it? Turn you into a ghoul?"

"…Ghoul?"

"I watched Vampire in Brooklynn," Johnny said proudly.

"Well you must be just the expert on all things Eddie Murphy then," Peter snipped.

"He used to sing, you know. I bought a record of his."

Peter shook his head. Didn't even have enough money to buy new clothes for the most part. "…Well, you can turn into- _I_ can't apparently, but-" he swallowed. "What kind of movies have you been watching?"

" _Underworld,_ man!"

"I've seen that. Cute girl, leather. She wasn't born a vampire."

"…Well I think you're wrong. Probably only read the book anyway. Nerd."

"Did you spend the entire movie looking at her butt?"

" _You didn't?_ It's a good butt. _"_

"What I did isn't important," Peter said. A genuine smile started to form on his face. "…There is no book."

"Sure there is. You would know. Nerd."

He couldn't stop himself from grinning. "I wish I had the last ten seconds of my life back because of you."

Johnny nodded. "You're _welcome!"_

As he laughed, Reed stepped forward, wearing a labcoat like a bathrobe. Peter could see him doing something like that. "You say you were bitten by an actual vampire?" He asked. "Not some person who just believed they were a vampire?"

"They wiped the floor with me, so-"

"That could simply mean they were stronger and faster than you. Curious that they could be both—your particular set of abilities is quite favorable… but that doesn't make them vampires." Peter pointed at his neck, not sure if he should be flattered or annoyed. "Delusional," Reed said clinically. "Believing themselves to be vampires they could have bitten you. Psychosomatic."

"I can heal from a gunshot wound in less than 24 hours. Getting bit on the neck by a random person wouldn't make this happen. They _turned_ into smoke and wolves, Reed! And bats. _Old timey vampire lore_!" Peter snapped, surprising him. "They bit me, bit my friend, then they spat my blood out like it was poison! … _Then_ they kicked my ass."

Johnny put a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Ouch. Bit and beat by a glitter monster. Sorry, man…" He was right. All Peter could do was laugh at himself.

"What is all this noise?" The one feminine voice he knew of said and Peter stiffened.

Sue Storm walked from the same place Reed had. Maybe the bedroom. Reed was a lucky enough guy. Smooth digs, government backing. Swanky. Peter wasn't jealous. But Reed's girl could make forcefields small enough that they could probably isolate bacteria. The sheer potential for her power's application was _amazing_. Reed didn't need his clone to try to protect her and turn _her_ into a furry. No one was a threat to Sue Storm.

She noticed him. He felt like a squirrel, frozen stiff. "Oh… hi Peter," she waved at him with an odd look on her face. Peter wondered if she was seeing his dead clone that thought that he was his own father. Sure knew that seeing another blonde had made him think of Gwen and the monster with her face.

"Hey… Sue. Sorry it took me so long to… stop by. And so late. Thanks for your help with everything." he said. Almost said with his father, but he caught himself.

Sue gave him that look again. Peter wanted to crawl into a hole. "Peter, it's no problem. We're happy to have you at any time." He doubted that at the moment.

"Sue! Peter says he was bitten by a _vampire!"_ Johnny exclaimed. "He's got the neck things! It's legit!"

"Bite marks," Peter corrected.

Sue raised her eyebrows, already more accepting of that. She walked over to Peter and asked if she could inspect him too. He let her. "You're not going to turn into Nosferatu and kill us, right?" She joked.

"Let's see him get through _dis_ rocky but loveable exterior," a gravely voice said goodnaturedly. Ben Grimm walked out and immediately went to the fridge. He waved without looking. "Heya, webhead."

Peter just hoped he hadn't woken them up and they were pretending like he hadn't. They probably were. "Hey. Uh- so-"

"You said they turned into wolves?" Sue asked kindly. Her hands traced the marks on his neck. The skin was sensitive there. Her soft hands didn't help. Wondered if she used her powers to keep herself so… smooth. Hormones. He raised his eyebrows. She smiled. "I overheard."

"You were aurally stalking me?"

She put her fingers together, looking cute. "Only a little."

"They turned into bats too," Johnny added.

"I was going to say they could have the ability to shapeshift. Mutants, perhaps," Reed said. He didn't sound skeptical, just science brained. Peter understood but had always been more open minded when it came to science. It was more fun that way and he could crawl on walls. "That ability _has_ been documented… but unless they secrete a _venom_ that can hinder his healing factor-"

"You know what _else_ has been documented?" Johnny asked, annoyed. " _Vampires!"_

"Is there something wrong Johnny?"

"You had me drink your _pee_ Reed!"

Peter's eyes bulged. "What the-"

Sue pushed him away from the two as they got into a one-sided argument. Johnny's "That's sick!" and Reed's "It was perfectly safe," were the last things he heard before they were muffled as Sue put up a force-field around them.

"Reed does have a point," Sue muttered, her eyes still on his neck. The attentiveness made him uneasy. "Could just be delusional shapeshifters with a sub-ability…"

"Wish I had a sub ability," Peter said. His stomach groaned at the thought. "Sandwiches everyday…"

Sue giggled. "Not that. Dork."

"Sorry," he said. He was sorry for a lot of things.

Her look softened. "No, it's- it's fine. It's cute. You're cute." To Peter she was like a school-nurse. Even sounded perfunctory. The compliment went over his head.

He sighed. "They turned into _smoke_ , Sue. And they were so fast… punched me straight through a wall, tossed me around like I was nothing." Just like the good old days. Tossed into lockers by Flash and his flunkies. At least that hadn't changed.

She saw the look on his face. "You got up though, right?" She asked kindly, running the bite marks with her thumb. A shiver ran down Peter's spine. He nodded. "Hey, look at me. It happens. You just got to get back up. You can't be the strongest or the fastest all the time Peter. "

He looked down. Sometimes he wished he was. "My Uncle used to say that to me. I know."

Sue was quiet for a few seconds before she pulled away. Peter hadn't noticed how nice she smelled until she was gone. Her scent was trapped in the bubble though, and he realized that he was 1. Thirsty, 2. Pathetic, and 3. Had a girlfriend. That he was doing a bad job at being a boyfriend to. And then it was back to 2.

"But… Smoke, huh? That's strange. Weird," she said.

Peter snorted derisively. "Good weird or bad weird?"

"Well these vampires bit you, a pretty good kid _I_ think, we all know." It was a compliment, but it made him flush and bristle. "And your friend. A friend of you has to be a good person, so that's bad weird. They can turn into smoke… and that's just worrying."

"You… believe me?"

Sue Storm was smilingat him. She wasn't that older than him and he wondered if she was being the indulgent older girl, like a student-teacher. "Why wouldn't I? You wouldn't lie to us…" She popped her lips. "Smoke and bats… The wolf thing goes back centuries. Smoke too, I think. I thought bats were just Hollywood. Vampires aren't really my thing. I prefer beakers honestly."

"I… like books," Peter said awkwardly, swallowing. "Beakers too? I-I guess, Uh, there was another one though, a guy, good guy. Kind of. He helped me… also kicked my butt. But get this. Said he was the son of _Dracul_."

Her eyes widened. "Well points to Hollywood for authenticity. …Just what kind of life are you living, Peter Parker?"

He wore a smile that didn't feel like it fit. "Oh, you know. The best kind."

* * *

At the suggestion of Reed and the gentle coaxing of Sue, Peter took a bloodtest. Sue suggested that if they were old vampires they could have carried harmful diseases with them, suggesting in no uncertain terms that he could have been chomped on by the vampire version of Typhoid freakin' Mary, and Reed muttered about how spectacular of a genetic abomination Peter was while he sat on an examination table. Supposed that was a compliment.

Sue rubbed his shoulder and said that he had no speck of remotely parasitic, vampiric whatever in his blood, or disease, when it was through. She had to dumb it down for Johnny.

Johnny was going on about how cool it would be if he _did_ become a vampire. "You could _fly!_ Vampires can fly, right?"

"Why don't you watch Underworld again and tell me."

Johnny shoved him again. "Seriously, man. Sure, you could, I don't know, turn into a monster and try to suck the life out of people-" he didn't notice Peter freeze like a spooked cat. Sue did. "But what if you didn't? You're strong enough I think, and you could be like a _good_ vampire. Helping people!"

"He already helps people, Johnny," Sue said comfortingly.

"Yeah but people hate him. People _love_ vampires nowadays!" Peter's shoulders slumped. "Sorry. People're stupid."

"And apparently so is my little _brother_."

"Been telling you dat for da longest, Sue," Ben said. "Can't expect no tact from flamebrain over here. Probably burns the oxygen out of the air every time he flames on and gives himself extended brain damage."

"That… actually explains some things."

"Hey!"

Ben stuck out his fist and Peter pounded it. "Don't sweat it webhead. Matchstick's right. People are stupid."

Peter didn't deny it. He was people too, so it fit. "They do love vampires though," he muttered. "My girlfriend sure would've loved it if I told her about it."

"Who's your girlfriend?" Sue asked.

"…Kitty Pryde."

"The X-Man?"

"If it's not sexist to say," he said. "No offense, but X-Woman sounds like… a mouthful."

"No, it's not sexist. Something euphonic about X-Man. Holds the same connotation. Don't worry." She laughed. "What's wrong with you two? Lover's quarrel?"

"I wish. I told my ex first."

" _Ooh,"_ Ben hissed, backed away like he'd catch some bad mojo from him. "Ey, ey, no! _No_. Ya don't do dat. _"_

Peter groaned. "I _know_. I tried calling but she was off… being an X-person. Man. Thing."

Ben chuckled. "Yeah?"

That kept Peter smiling. "It's not going so good between us. Haven't talked to her since…" he trailed off. They all knew what he was talking about. The weight of their sympathy made him feel like crawling into a deeper hole. He was just as bad a boyfriend as he was an ex-boyfriend and friend.

"…How are things?" Sue asked. He wished she hadn't. "At home? With you."

"Patching things up, you know." He lied through his teeth. "Kind of uh… hard to get back into the swing of things when I saw myself die. Twice. And my ex was turned into a furry, so."

" _That_ was your ex?" Johnny asked. " _Ooh,_ man… ouch."

"Johnny!"

"He's right though. This is... weird. My fault."

"No, it's not," Sue said. "It's not your fault that some callous, heartless people decided to play with your life and make an experiment out of you, Peter. That is _not_ your fault."

But that wasn't what he was talking about. His fault Gwen died. His fault he cared so much about MJ that his insane clone took it up to 11, experimented on her like a spider-powered Mr. Hyde. His fault that the vampires had done so much. Stuck his head where it didn't belong. Should have minded his own business.

And where had he ended up? Intruding on a family that probably had bigger, worse problems of their own just so he could get a… whatever this was. A pity party.

"…Thanks," he said. Everything just felt… heavy. Too much to carry. "I appreciate it, guys."

"So who was that chick that scooped you up? And the red thing too, _man_ that was weird! Turned into a chick!" Johnny asked, tone-deaf. "She your sister or something? …She got a number?"

Peter put his head down. Sue groaned. " _Johnny_ …"

"Come on, it's a legit question! She looked… cute."

"I believe she was wearing a full body spandex suit, Johnny. With a mask," Reed interjected. "The only thing someone with as many volatile hormones as yourself would notice is that she's in the same stage of life as you, presumably. Unless you're talking about the 'red thing'. I believe it would have killed you by evisceration. Or worse."

"…You trying to say I was perving on his sister?" Peter put his down further. His stomach turned. "Not cool, man. Bro-code!"

Reed ignored him. "What was that creature, by the way? It was truly fascinating."

"A _mistake_ ," Peter said.

It was. And that had been the real shapeshifter. Made him think it was _Gwen._ How many times had he been lied to in a single night? He actually was dumb enough to think his father was alive. Hugged him. Hugging girl-him had been awkward, yeah. He even dreamt about it. Kind of nice. But the sad brainwashed clone that thought it was his father? That had been the most _pathetic_ hug in the history of the world.

Sue was right, he _was_ a kid. Dumb and naïve. And he was done with being the center of a pity party. Peter pushed off the table. He intruded enough. "Thanks for having me guys. For the help, I appreciate it. Got to go," he said curtly.

"You sure? It's only 1:30," Johnny said. "I got this new game and-"

"Have you eaten?" Sue asked. "We were about to have dinner. You could join us," she said, but Johnny had just said it was 1:30 in the morning. No one ate dinner at 1:30AM, not even the Fantastic Four.

"I would like to run some more tests…" Reed said. "And to talk with you about your powers. I noticed-"

"Ey, I wouldn't mind sharin' a sub with ya, webhead," Ben admitted. "If ya can put it away. I'm talkin' real quadruple deckers here."

"No, thanks… I ate a big dinner at home!" He lied and pat his stomach. " _Stuffed._ My Aunt, she- we had meatloaf. Wheatcakes. Ordered pizza. Good stuff."

"Oh… alright," Sue said with a small frown. "Are you going to be okay?"

He shrugged. Maybe too hard. "I'll get up." Pointed in the general direction of the window he'd come in through. "Mind opening the window? My Aunt's gonna clobber me if I don't get back soon."

"So she knows," Sue said flatly.

"Oh yeah, she… she knows."

Sue opened the window. He jumped up to it and waved at them. "Come back around, Peter. You're always welcome here."

That made him laugh. He already made up his mind. "I'll try not to be a burden," he said, and jumped.

* * *

Back outside, he limited how many webs he used. Didn't know where he was going to go, only that he needed to make them last. _'_ Didn't have any money to make anymore. Was going to leave his paycheck to Aunt May. Would need it for the bills. His fault. Wouldn't have a lab to make it in. Had to think ahead and be responsible _._ ' _Be_ _responsible…'_

He hadn't made it back to the house until 3 o'clock in the morning. Manhattan was gummed up with webs by then and he was panting from how much he'd swung through the city. Back to back to blow off steam. Felt nice, using his powers—well, not his powers, the webbing was man-made. But acting like that, with no responsibility, it felt good.

Someone was sitting on the front steps when he got back. Peter landed on the roof of the house out of sight, looked over the roof to see her long, brown hair. For a second he wondered if it was the girl-him, Jessica. Because one more weird thing at this point could only make things better. But it wasn't her. It was Kitty.

Her legs were tight together and she had her fingers over her knees. She sighed, looked at the sky, her watch, and tucked herself into her jacket. It was _3:00AM._ What was she _doing_ here? Oh, right. She was his girlfriend. Good girlfriends check up on their boyfriends. Good boyfriends do the same. Unfortunately for her Peter was learning he wasn't really good boyfriend material.

"Hey," he whispered.

Kitty jumped up from the stairs with a loud, " _Gah!"_ and looked up at him on the roof with wide eyes. "…How long have you been there?" She asked with a hand to her chest. "Seriously, _dick_ move, Peter!"

She was smiling while she said it. Started to laugh too. Peter tried to smile. "Sorry," he said. "I just got here."

"Where were you?" Kitty wondered. He knew she meant for the last few days when she called, just like MJ.

"With the Fantastic Four," he said. "I uh… got checked out." She tilted her head. "The- the vampire thing."

Her face fell. "I'm sorry. About all of that I am sorry. I didn't- I was being jealous, and stupid, and _selfish._ I just- I just thought that- I thought you liked your ex more than me." She looked down. Could have sworn she started sinking into the ground.

He slid from the roof and that was odd. His powers weren't letting him stick. Figured he did have a sub power he didn't know about: intermittent sticking. Woo.

Peter went over to her and wanted to hug her but could only manage laying a hand over her shoulder. Didn't feel like he deserved to. She hugged him. "Kitty, I-"

She kissed him. She was a great kisser. "Can we go inside?" Peter blinked his mind out of the clouds and nodded.

They went inside and he shut the door behind him. The house was quiet, the living room dark. He hadn't turned on a single light once. He watched her walk over to one by the stairs and turn it on. "What were you doing out there?" She asked, looking at him.

Peter closed his eyes. "…Watching you. Like a creep."

She smiled and walked to him, pulling him to the couch. "Not a creep. My boyfriend." She kissed him again. "Need I bring up that I have, like, an entire room full of pictures of you? I'm like a superstalker. You should fear me."

"Should be the other way around," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She held his face in her hands. They weren't as soft as Sue's, but were… ghostly. Like clouds. "Hey, look at me," she said, all kind, all caring. Made him feel better. "You okay? I came around a few days ago after… everything. You weren't here."

He echoed his last words to Sue. "I'll get up. Been better though."

"What happened?"

He wasn't about to tell her about the clones, about the chimera, or the fact that he couldn't go five minutes without seeing his impaled, six armed corpse. Deal with it himself. Last thing he needed was his problems hurting someone else again.

"A lot. Stuff," he said.

She wrapped her arms around him. "I… brought my toothbrush. Do… you want me to stay the night?"

For the first time he realized that it was so quiet. Just the two of them in the house. He wrapped his arms around her and fell to the couch. "I'd like that."

* * *

He woke up in his room. Kitty was laying on top of him, sleeping under a blanket. Peter laid still. Could smell her hair, hear her breathing, and for the next few minutes everything seemed normal _._ Well, for that felt nice. Just a guy and his girl, in bed. Together. And his penis was erect, so morning wood was still a thing. They hadn't done anything. Totally normal.

That was why he hadn't moved. Kitty did though. In her sleep her leg grazed the inside of his thigh. Perfectly at home with being so close to him she tucked herself in deeper for warmth. His sweatpants started to tighten before he could do anything, and by then it was too late. The full brunt of his hard cock was pressed flush against her leg and Peter could only watch like he was on death row as Kitty blinked her eyes open.

She looked down. "Holy…. God. Wow, that's…. um, _mn_ , is- is that for me?" she asked sleepily. Peter didn't say anything. Her knee nudged at his turgid length and she hissed at the girth of it. "Because it feels scary. Like it is."

Peter closed his eyes. "I slept good," he said, and felt stupid.

Kitty straightened herself and laid herself on top of him. Climbed onto his lap. "I did too. Really well. We should sleep together more often."

She put her crotch against his and kissed him, and morning breath or no, Peter kissed back. He felt better. The world just melted away and he wasn't a bad boyfriend, nephew, or even a screwup of a friend. Just a guy with an erection while his girlfriend sat in his lap. It was a nice change of pace.

Kitty started to rock against him. Her hands went down to her waistband and then they just weren't there. Peter watched her pull them up through her body as she phased through them, She tossed them to the corner and leaned back, doing the same to her top. He stared at the smooth, creamy meat of her thighs, lithe and with the barest curve that compressed around a pair of immaculate pink panties. And her bra… well, she wasn't wearing one anymore.

She held her shirt close to her chest, not covering her breasts, but close to. Peter could see the wide, pink forms of her areolas, her nipples, so hard from being exposed. Or maybe it was him. Probably not. She looked bashfully up at him. "They're… they're not too small or weird or anything, right?" She asked. She sounded so cute and pitiful he wanted to kiss her.

Peter looked at them in awe and grabbed one slowly, and then the other. He gently squeezed the delicate and pert flesh in his hands. It was just enough to fill past his fingers. Kitty wasn't Black Cat up top but that didn't matter. She was his.

His fingers acted of their own accord and flicked at her nipples. She seemed to like that, so Peter did it again. He kissed one, then the other, and then her. "They're perfect," he said, and kissed her, and she smiled all bashfully against his lips.

He could feel her through the fabric of his pants, through her panties. Kitty was starting to get wet, steaming through her underwear and seeping into his pants while his penis- his _cock_ was flat against his stomach, ground and caressed by her lips, her pussy as it glided up and down the entire length of his shaft. She held one hand of his and put the other back to her breast, eyes closed, a quiet moan escaping her mouth as she started to rock, getting more confidence when he groaned at the feeling and his hand slowly fell to her waist.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to Kitty," Peter said, but he could barely hear himself speak.

"Good to know," she said, "Because I want to."

She reached between her legs to pull her panties aside, positioned right above the frightening eclipse of his tented dick. Then she thought better of it and turned, swung her legs over his head so that her soaking pussy was positioned right over his face, her smooth pink lips glistening from the sunlight and the taut globes of her ass in perfect, tantalizing position for him to squeeze. She looked at him from between her legs.

"Hope I'm not too heavy," she said, and dropped down.

Then the _fucking_ phone rang.

The suddenness of it made her go right through him. Kitty went rigid as Peter jumped up in surprise, landing on the ceiling as she fell through him, the bed, and the floor. Almost instantly his powers gave way and he dropped. Heard a thump from downstairs, flew out of bed and got there just in time to see her bolt up from the couch. She looked as surprised as he did, just as frustrated, and even a little embarrassed.

"What was that?" She asked. They looked to the phone and Peter picked it up. No one.

" _That would be me,"_ a voice said. Peter could hear it in his brain.

"…. _Jean?!"_ Kitty exclaimed. "What the _freak_ are you- _seriously?"_

"How did you even get my number?!"

" _Hello, mind-reader,"_ Jean tapped the side of her head, or he got the feeling she did. " _"Telepath, remember?"_

"Why?!" Kitty exclaimed.

" _You weren't answering the normal way."_

"Since when is telepathy normal?"

"I was with _my boyfriend!"_

"So do you seriously just not know the meaning of privacy or does this freakin' amuse you? First the mind swap thing, now this?! What the _fuck!"_

" _I… apologized for that."_

" _Whoopdey freakin' do!"_ He snapped. "You weren't exchanged for a two-hundred year old fucking mutant because a _telepath_ had a point to make!"

" _Well, that's kind of racist."_ Peter was beyond caring at that point. He strangled the air. He could hear the chiding teeth-sucking noise, see the metal image of Jean Grey's face like she was looking right at him with her short red hair and green eyes. _"You don't mean that,"_ she said dismissively. _"You didn't come home last night,"_ she said, obviously to Kitty. _"We were worried."_

"I was _with_ my _boyfriend."_

" _I can see that,"_ Jean said. She turned to Peter, sort of. _"And you-"_ Peter could feel her going through his head. That was the last straw.

"Stay _out_ of my head,"he snapped. "You've done enough. _Stay out._ "

Momentarily shocked by his vehemence, Jean retreated. " _Jean! "_ Kitty yelled. " _Really?_ Can you just stay out of his head for _once_ and not make me want to die of embarrassment?!"

For a second Jean looked right at him _._ Peter scowled at her, nostrils flared. _"Sorry, I- I- I'm sorry, Kitty,"_ she said, looking ashamed of herself, at least. _"The Professor needs you to come back."_

"I'm kinda busy. We are. Or we _were."_

Jean crossed her arms. Or didn't. This was confusing. Peter hated telepathy. _"You're not now. So now, Kitty. Your boyfriend is alright, it's time to come home. We'll pick you up."_ She looked at him one more time before finally going away.

The two of them were left in the living room, Kitty's soaked panties askew and her breasts on full display, and his hard _dick_ poking out like an idiot. Peter took a shaky breath as the weight of everything came back and reality fell on him and settled as a cool feeling in his stomach like bad milk.

"Well… this is a good morning isn't it," Kitty said.

Jean Grey was falling on his list of tolerable people quicker and quicker. She was slightly lower than J. Jonah Jameson at that point. They would have been neck and neck but Jonah never swapped his mind with anyone.

Peter suggested they eat breakfast together. Because fuck what Jean wanted. It was spiteful and petty, and he enjoyed it. Hard cock and all he walked into the kitchen and got cereal and milk, poured them a bowl and sat down. Kitty was all for it and had floated back upstairs and collected her things. She floated down with her pants half on and her t-shirt thrown over her head, wanting to have as much time with him as possible.

She stopped when she was what he was doing. Sitting down with a single bowl of cereal and a still stubbornly hard cock. They looked at each other. "Um. Uh?" She asked stupidly.

He pushed out his chair, suggesting in no uncertain terms where she'd sit and what she'd eat. Swallowing a melon, she delicately walked over to him, half barefoot and half… wearing Spider-Man socks. She sat down in his lap, nestled herself in her seat with his cock eclipsing her cheeks, pressing hard and hot against the tight curves of her ass.

Peter held her there possessively, trying to get some semblance of the feeling he got before. It worked long enough for them to finish the bowl, Kitty passed him a spoonful and he did the same, her slight, quiet rocking and insistent pressure on his cock ensuring that his pants were soaked and her panties were too. They had no idea what they were doing, less humping that it was rutting, but it felt fucking _good._

And then the phone rang. Again.

" _As romantic as this is… and pervy, Kitty, we're here,"_ the voice of Jean Grey said before disappearing. They groaned. Kitty's eye twitched. "…Was she really just spying on us?"

Peter growled. "I am starting to hate her."

She smiled at him, kissed his cheek. "You don't mean that. Try living with her."

"Please don't give me nightmares," he said. "I have enough of those now." He did, and the only interruption was dreaming about hugging his literal girl-self. Yeesh.

Their breakfast interrupted, Peter got dressed and they walked to the same place he first met the X-Men. Or X-Girls. Could feel Jean Grey poking at his head, trying to talk even after Kitty told her to stay away from him at his request. Sounded like she was apologizing. Peter didn't care.

When they got there it was a blast from the past. He was only wearing his mask and simple clothes, and three girls of the X-Men were there. This time Kitty was with him. Peter wasn't sure if the look they were giving him was to kill or if he was being paranoid.

"Ororo… Jean," Kitty sighed. "You know Peter. My boyfriend. Rogue, Peter. Peter, Rogue," she said to the last girl, one with a white strip in her hair. Peter wasn't in the mood for introductions.

"So we just gon' ignore how they smell like sex?" Rogue asked.

"We didn't do _anything!"_ Kitty said.

"Yeah, right. Whatever."

Jean looked at him. "Hi, Peter. Sorry."

He frowned. "Bye, Jean."

She cringed. "Come on Kitty," she said, waving her way into the X-Jet, making herself scarce. Storm nodded to him and Rogue followed after her, giving him a look. Then it was just the two of them on the rooftop.

"…How is it that no one notices the big ass jet floating in Queens?" Peter asked.

Kitty smiled. "Telepathy and stealth. She's blocking their perception, or something."

"Right. Must be nice."

She swallowed. "You gonna be okay?" He wished people would stop asking him that. "I'm sorry about all this. This- such a mess."

She really had no idea. He hadn't forgotten what he planned to do. What he still planned to do but he couldn't just skip out on her. "I'll get up," he said, confusing her. "I… I'm going out of town for a while. That's why I wanted you to stay."

She looked disappointed, sad, but understood. "Right. With the- everything. If Nick Fury was in my neighborhood I'd want to get outta dodge too."

That made him laugh. "Yeah."

"So, your aunt? She knows?"

"She knows."

"If you need any help, you know," she took his hand. "Just…. Stop by. Drop a line or just… drop in, kay? Just…" she trailed off. Peter nodded, but there was no way in hell he was going to burden her or the X-Men with his problems. Not like he'd down to the Fantastic Four. "I'll miss you."

"No you won't," he said with a glued-on smile. She thought he was joking, kissed him before letting go of his hand, walking backward toward the ramp to the X-Jet while waving goodbye. Peter watched them fly off.

* * *

By the time he got back it was close to noon—didn't realize until later they had slept in. Peter looked at the house. The pictures of the Parker family, of him and Gwen, MJ, Kitty—she had left her toothbrush. He collected his things—bag full of clothes, some food, his mask and webshooters… just in case.

Then he left. Fury had eyes on him everywhere. From the second he got his powers. Or so he said. Peter wondered how much of that was true—with a name like the 'One Eyed Eagle' maybe it was—and how much of it was that he was in his parent's hometown where it was easy to keep an eye on him like some sort of experiment. Wondered how easy it'd be to track him in, say, Albany. He was about to find out.

By 2 o'clock he was at the bus station ready to hop on the first bus out of the city. Stopped by the hospital to see Aunt May but couldn't manage it. She was still hooked up to the machines, looking weak and frail, just so unlike her. But then kicking him out seemed so unlike her too. Didn't want to risk making things worse for her so he just left like she told him to. He had caused enough problems.

While he was waiting for the bus, he took a seat. Five seconds later someone sat next to him. Surprised and annoyed Peter turned to look at them. It was a girl. Asian, long black hair, pale skin, short and petite. She was smiling at him.

"Hi," she said, stuck her hand out and shook his while he looked at her. She told him her name. "Cindy. Cindy Moon. What's your name?"

There was… something off about her. She was small but felt… heavy. Big. He couldn't stop himself from telling her his name. "Peter… Parker."

She smiled wider. Peter watched as she started to play with her fingers next to him, like they were good friends. He'd never seen her before in his life. His eyes widened as she started to make an Eiffel Tower out of what he thought was string. It was webbing, softly twirling from her fingertips. Just like the girl-him. Like Jessica.

She held it out to him and Peter took it in shock. "I've been waiting to meet you Peter. I think you'll find we have a lot in common."

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you all for the reviews. Posted from my phone. I'm about half-sorry for any errors._


	11. The Queen's Man Part 1

**Chapter 11**

 **The Queen's Man.**

* * *

 _Eight months ago._

"Food's gonna get cold if you don't touch it," Cindy said, looking at him from across the table. She raised her fork from her plate, pointed at his slice of pie while she still had a piece of sausage on her fork before she popped it into her mouth with a wink. He'd spent the morning dry humping his girlfriend at the breakfast table so the innuendo didn't go over his head.

There was something about her, something surreal and something off. It… tickled him, made his skin crawl. Not in a bad way. If feeling like he wanted to jump out of his own skin wasn't bad. She had him on high alert, paranoid as hell. The monkeys in the basement of his brain were coming up with all sorts of fun stuff for Cindy Moon.

"I'm not hungry," Peter said, moving his slice of pie around the plate. It was around 40% of everything he'd said since they arrived. Almost made himself believe it was all just an extended fieldtrip, except no one was throwing stuff at the back of his head from the back of the bus and Uncle Ben hadn't signed a permission slip.

It was the first stop outside of Manhattan. Bathroom breaks, lunch, dinner at a little diner integrated into the station. Had already set in that he had no clue where he was in the world, where he stood, or if he had PTSD for seeing himself get pinned to a wall like an arachnid variant of an entomology showing. Funny how existential dilemmas like _that_ went out the window after a girl waltzed up to him, said she knew who he was, and followed him out the city like she had nothing to lose. That wasn't suspicious at all.

It kept him from sleeping much on the ride there. From figuring out what he'd do next. Going back to the F4 or the X-Men wasn't on his list. He wasn't about to come crawling to their door with his tail between his legs and begging for help. Could see that pity party coming a mile away. Probably should stop thinking about his own corpse. Corpses. That had to be narcissistic, not to mention bad for his mental health.

Still, Uggo Parker and the Human-Spider had definitely been him. Tried to help, end up hurting, and ended up dead. He wondered if that was going to be a trend he followed before long.

Cindy smiled at him. Peter tried not to shiver. Something about her was wrong off. Big. Could be the paranoia, he'd latched on to the fact that he didn't know anyone, couldn't trust anyone. Her having powers like him didn't change that. But Cindy was all calm, all serene. Pale like she barely saw the sun and… cute. Soft ivory skin and long dark hair with wide dark eyes, dressed in a tiny hoodie and t-shirt, tight jeans, and shoes that looked in style. He guessed. He was still wearing the bargain bin clothes Ben bought for him last year.

Maybe she was another vampire. A vampire with spider powers. Thanks, Johnny…

"Who are you?" Peter said, cagey-like as he was stuck playing connect-the-dots in his head. Made a list of who she could be, or what. She had powers like Jessica. Jessica had been made because of Otto. Otto had kept the chimera that killed Gwen and if Peter ever saw him again…

Maybe they'd found a way to give his powers to other people, and he wondered if he could expect to get ganked anytime soon since they wouldn't be needing him anymore. Yeah, he was definitely getting paranoid. Still wasn't the weirdest part. When he had managed to grab some sleep on the ride here, he dreamt of Jessica and their hug some more. And when everything else had been nightmares, visions of Gwen being murdered by the thing with her hair and body, but not her face, or his corpses, or MJ's, or Ben's—or anyone else's—capping off all of it off with a weirdly peaceful dream of hugging his vagina-rocking girl-self? Not too bad. Probably the best he could hope for. He had problems.

Cindy ate some more sausage, quirked her brow at him, all furtive-like. "I told you," she said with her mouth full, "Cindy Moon."

He frowned. "Right... Question 1 down, 19 more to go."

"Then will you eat?"

"I'm not hungry," he said again,

She sighed, frowned. "I spent money on you," she said quietly. "Eat."

His head… tickled. Before he grabbed his fork he made a fist. "Who are you?" He asked.

"Wow, echo much?"

He flexed his fingers, brought them up to the table… and grabbed the fork. She was putting him on edge. "Where'd you _come_ from? …Where did you get your powers?"

She clicked her tongue. "Question 2, 3… Huh. You really didn't notice me, did you?" She muttered. "We went to the same school. I saw you get bitten by the spider."

"It was a crappy day for me. Bit by a big, ugly spider. Thought I was going to die or lose my hand. Kind of hazy on the entire thing."

"That's fair." she said. "We were in homeroom together last year. I sat behind you. Back of the class."

"Did we ever speak?"

"…No. Question 4."

"Then how would I possibly know who you are?" He asked harshly.

Cindy smiled self-deprecatingly. "Question 5. You wouldn't. I… can't say I was ever any good at rockin' the genius-brain like you though. While you were making straight A double pluses I was middling at C minus. We both got made fun of for it though. …I just thought we had something in common."

He worked his jaw. Didn't want to feel bad for a complete stranger when his plate was so full of problems, but it was almost a reflex at this point. He felt like an asshole. "I don't remember seeing you around school at all," he said, repressing the urge to apologize for it. He bit the inside of his cheek. "…Sorry."

Cindy brightened a little. He shivered. "I was in and out. Mostly out. Then all the way out. I… didn't have the strongest- whatchamacallit… constitution? Biggest thing I went to, ever, was the trip to Oscorp. Got sick not long after seeing you get chomped on by that spider. Lucky me, huh?"

Peter looked at her. Then he started to eat his pie. It was apple. Pretty good once he felt like he wasn't fighting against his hand. "Yeah. Lucky."

"You gonna be okay?"

He shrugged. "I'll get up. Been worse."

"You really have," she nearly gushed. "I watched your fight with big green—Osborn, not the Hulk—and then the one with that black tentacly thing, and the one with Rhino, and then with the Reavers-"

Peter wondered if she was some kind of stalker—probably didn't have a right to be weirded out. His girlfriend was a self-proclaimed superstalker and he still remembered exactly how many pictures and posters of him she had covering her walls at Xavier's Mansion—63. Yet here he was in some no name diner with a new girl. Had a feeling this was something else Ben Grimm would say he shouldn't do. Wondered what other sage advice the Thing would have about this.

"Am I weirding you out?"

"Not nearly as much as I'm used to," he said sardonically.

"You deserve a lot better than what you're used to," Cindy said simply. "You've helped so many people. They just-"

"People are stupid. Heard that before," he said, terse. "Thanks."

"There's stupid and then there's too dumb to live," she said. "They're worse than stupid. Question 6?"

"What can you do?" He asked, waved at her with his fork when she have him a curious look. He kept his voice quiet. "You got bit by the same spider I did, right? You did… _that_. I can't. What else can you do?"

She smiled slowly. Like she knew something he didn't. "I call it 'weaving', but… a few things. Like I said, we have so much in common." She started to make another sculpture out of webbing. It was a box this time. She stuck it to the underside of the table.

He watched her and thought of his clone. It was too easy to think of her. Clone-him, _girl_ -him. Jessica. She was a bucket of weird-magnets. And calling her 'clone' made her seem like… less. Made _all_ of them seem like less. It hadn't been their choice to be created from him. Doubted they would even like him, or like being him. He sure as heck wasn't his biggest fan, but _he_ wasn't going to be the one to write off the Freakish Parker Quadruplets as experiments, less than human.

A real monkey wrench in the gears of his life? Sure. That didn't make them any less of a person, individually, but collectively? Were they were a female, brainwashed, insane, six-armed pain in his ass? Definitely.

Cindy frowned slightly, snapped her fingers in his face. "Hey, earth to Peter. You there?" He waved her hand away. "I can lift a car, at least. Not as strong as you, I don't think, but I can pack a punch." She tapped her bicep. "And I'm… kind of fast? I don't really know."

He squinted. "How do you not know?"

"Question 8. I tried doing what you do. Once. Haven't made a habit of it. Don't think it's for me," she said, taking a sip her drink.

It explained why he never heard anything about someone else with spider-powers in New York—he was the only person dumb enough to do that. Couldn't really hold that against her. "…Are you a stalker?" Just his luck that out of everyone to know his identity, a stalker would be one of them. A stalker with spider-powers. Jesus jaywalking Christ.

Cindy put her hands up. "Wow, question 9 already? _No_. I'm just… kind of alone, you know? Ha, just like in school… But you have spider-powers, I have spider-powers. There's a, you know, _connection,"_ she said rolling her hands between them. Peter stared at her. She sighed. "And when I look at youand I get this… feeling. Like I can do it. And then I don't, because… well, I've seen the stuff you have to put up with. Sucks."

It felt like she was digging at him. "Question 10," Peter said shortly.

"Shoot."

"Are you going to try to kill me?" He asked, staring her in the eye. "Because I'll tell you right now. A lot of people have tried so far." The only reason he was still alive was because of sheer dumb luck. Maybe that's why the rest of his luck was so crappy.

"Is this because I'm a girl? Not all females eat the males. Males eat females, you know." She winked at him. He rolled his eyes. "And did you know it's the males that sacrifice themselves so their children can have something to eat? _So_ romantic." She sighed, dreamily. " _No,_ I'm not going to kill you Peter."

"11. You gonna go after my family, then?" He asked tightly. What family, Jessica? Yeah, that was rich. Even if she was as bad as him at protecting people, at least she could protect herself. God help him if it ever came down to saving his life though. They didn't have the best track record for saving their own lives.

She raised her eyebrow. "Just what type of person do you think I am?"

"The kind of person who gets abilities and doesn't use them to help others," he said flatly, "If I can do it, you can do it."

She rolled her eyes. "How noble and _feminist_ of you. How's that worked out for you so far?"

Peter scowled. "You with the government?"

She smirked. "Question 12. Just _what_ kind of life are you living, Peter Parker?"

He grimaced. "Answer the question."

"No, I'm not with the government. Question 13?"

"The webbing," he said quietly, not wanting anyone to hear them. "The sheer amount of muscles you'd need to do that is… impossible to have in your fingertips. And to sculpt them, it's autonomous. Alive. That's not normal, not even _possible_." It was hard to keep the fascination out of his voice. Cindy noticed.

"Duh. You crawl on walls. _We're_ not normal." He couldn't argue that either. According to the smartest man on the planet, he was a genetic abomination. And 'cute', if that man's girlfriend, the smartest woman on the planet, had anything to say. Those were things every young man wanted to hear.

"People are normal. Normal peopledon't get chosen for these gifts. We did." She looked at him with a look in her eye that he couldn't place, a slight twitch on her lips. "We're exceptional _."_

Peter nodded like he understood. He did. Understood the hairs rising on the back of his neck and the red flags popping up again. She was probably insane. Cindy rolled her eyes like she heard that. "You help people though. Even when they call you a killer, a monster, a criminal."

"I have a responsibility _."_

She gave him a half-lidded look. "Says who?"

He sighed. "Someone once told me 'With great power, there must also come great responsibility."

"You didn't answer the question, but okay," she said, "Alright. What does that say about being irresponsible with yourself? How does that imply that _everyone else_ is moreimportant than _you_? The person who puts his life on the line for them?" He didn't answer. "And how's that turn out for you when the entire city still throws it in your face? Cops shoot at you, people call you a _freak_ and nothing you do is good enough _._ They made a movie about you, remember? Did you get anything from that? They make commercials mocking and demonizingyou. Spreading lies about you in the papers like they do the mutants."

Peter downed his drink. "Next question."

She shook her head. "You _fascinate_ me… Helping people, even when they don't deserve it."

"It's not _my place_ to decide who deserves to live or dies!" Peter snapped, keeping his voice quiet. "I have a _responsibility_."

"Says _who_? Who told you that defending them was _your_ responsibility? _Your_ problem?" She frowned. "And if it's not your place to decide that, how is it any place of yours to decide to save people at all?"

Couldn't come up with a rebuttal for that either. She made a good point. Responsibility? Who decided that he had a responsibility to _anyone?_ Uncle Ben wouldn't have wanted thisfor him. And where had it gotten him? He wasn't in it for the glory, not anymore, but you'd think a guy could catch a break instead of getting his DNA used like a sperm sample by suits and labcoats. Instead of being booted out of his home, having nightmares about watching himself get killed by the guy who tortured him _and_ co-stared in a movie he didn't even get _paid_ for, only to walk free because the gummit gave him a deal.

And then he either gets his friends killed or hurt. Ruins their lives or ends them. Get family killed, nearly killed. At the end of the day Peter Parker's track record was piss poor. "Next. _Question_ ," he said, bitter to the core.

Cindy laughed. "Shoot."

"How did you find me? How do you know _so_ much about me if you're not a stalker?"

"Well I said I'm not from the gummint. We won't count that one. And no, I'm not a stalker, but I do follow your instagram page," she joked, shrugging. He had an instagram page? "I'm not with Nick Fury, and-"

He'd been waiting for that. Just another inconsistency to prove the theory tickling the back of his brain. The table crunched like aluminum foil when his hand twitched. "I never said a damnthing about Fury," he whispered dangerously. "New question. Who. Are. _You."_

Slowly, Cindy put her hands up. He watched them close, ready to bolt. Couldn't fight her here, didn't want to. She was right. He didn't need to. She wasn't his problem, or a problem at all. She could be, but didn't have to be his. He could just walk away. "I have another power. It's-"

"Tell me why I don't believe you," Peter hissed. "Maybe it's the fact that the spider that bit me got _squashed,_ so you couldn't have been bitten. And that was the _only_ one to get free so don't tell me another got to you. So I'm going to ask you one more time, 'Cindy'. _Who_ are you?"

Cindy stared at him for a long while. "Sit down," she said, looking him in the eye. He sneered at her. " _Sit._ Down." He fell into his seat like a bag of lead. She looked cautiously around the diner, sighed. "Technically I _never_ said I was bitten by a spider," she said hesitantly. "My name is Cindy Moon. …I'm a mutant."

"You're a friggin' telepath…" Peter groaned, kicking himself for not noticing it before. He squirmed in his seat but couldn't move. " _Again_ with the telepaths. What, do I just have a sign on my brain that says, 'practice your freaky deeky mutant powers on me?"

She flinched. Here he was again, being pulled around by another telepath but she was the one who flinched. "Do you… not like mutants?"

"I don't like people who _go into my head,"_ Peter growled. Jean Grey and her, they'd would probably get along well. He managed to stand up the slightest bit. Then fell to his seat again like he was being tugged by chains. He fought it, didn't stop until he could stand up all the way. His jaw was as tight as a vice when he did. "My girlfriend's a mutant."

"So progressive. Much impress. Is that the brunette one you left behind? Or the red-head?" Cindy said.

" _Get out of my head._ "

She sighed. "I _can't,_ okay? That's the other power. I can… _hear_ you," she said. " _Feel_ you. Not even like telepathy, I don't think. That's how I found you, I can-" he glared at her, not believing a word. "I'm telling the _truth!_ I can _talk-"_

He smiled like ice. "Bravo. Learn that in homeschool?"

Her eyes widened. "You _are_ smart, aren't you?" She laughed to herself. "Okay, Mr. Detective, okay. Sit down." He didn't move. "Sit down, Peter. I'm not going to make you."

"Read my mind and tell me what I think of telepaths right now. Then ask yourself how I feel about being told what to do."

She narrowed her eyes and they… turned red. Peter felt his knees buckle. He resisted it and she looked frustrated. People were starting to stare. "Unless you want everyone to start screaming 'mutie', and for police to pour in here, you really should sit. The bus driver is the type to kick us off for that sort of thing and I don't think you want to fight some 'innocent' 9-to-5 blueboy. Not everyone is as kumbaya as you."

He sat. Begrudgingly. "Kiss my ass."

She rolled her eyes. "If you want. Like I was saying, this is my _ability._ Like you with your spider-sense—cute name, btw. I can't turn this off. I can _hear_ you, the other yous too, before they… I talk to spiders, bugs. I _control_ them, and really, _really_ it's kind ofweird for me." She laughed. "Fun though."

"I'll make sure to get the world's tiniest violin for you," he said, scowling at her. "You could be helping people."

"Don't give me that look," she scoffed. "Again, I've seen how that turned out for you. Your clones? How's the family life going? Still getting the nightmares?" She hissed, leaning forward. "Because I am too."

He ground his teeth. "What do you _want_ from me?" He asked harshly. "Help? In case you haven't read that part of my mind, I'm not the best person to go to for that. I tend to let people down."

"I was _thinking_ that I could help you, stupid. To do _this_." She held out her hand underneath the table and began to… weave webbing over it, making a glove. "To stop the nightmares. I know things. About our powers. Things that can help you."

That tagged him. "And what do you want in return?" He asked. "What do you get from this?"

She gave him a sad, understanding smile. "A friend? I can count on one hand how many of those I have. Look, we're alone _,_ Peter. We can help each other. " She grabbed his hand. Gentle. Soft. Peter felt his mind get hazy, cloudy. "Besides, what's a Queen without her King?"

He pulled away. "What?"

Cindy only smiled. "You have your name. I have mine."

* * *

Roll call came. The people who were staying stayed, and then they were back on the road again. Not having anywhere else to go and spending a chunk of his money on the ticket, Peter had no choice but to get on. Doubted he had a choice since he was sharing a seat with the 'teenaged mutant telepathic Spider-Girl'. Or the 'Queen', which wasn't presumptuous at all.

The lights on the bus were off. It was still night. Peter had his head on the window and tucked into his jacket. He looked out the window. Cindy looked with him, invading his personal space like they knew each other all their lives. He wondered if she knew she was making his skin crawl. "You really don't like telepaths, do you? Or mutants?"

"Telepaths, not anymore," he muttered, watching as she looked at him blankly with dark eyes.

"1 out of 2 isn't bad," she shrugged. "Do you not like me?" He looked hard at her. "Wow, Jean Grey is giving us a bad name."

"I don't care that you're a mutant." He said, nestling himself into his seat. "...What now?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you going to _come_ with me?"

He glared at her, the girl without a brainfilter apparently, but didn't say anything. New York was behind him, and everyone else. No commitments, no worries. No responsibility. That sounded nice. Shacking up with this girl didn't, but he didn't really have any other option, did he?

When he nodded, Cindy cheered and leaned on his shoulder. "Do you think you'll ever go back?" And he looked at her, wondered if she was peeking into his mind. He decided he didn't care. There wasn't a thing he could do about it except shoot her dirty looks and get an ulcer. She smiled. "Whoops."

"I don't know," he said after a few more seconds of glaring at her, before it faltered. "Where are we going?"

"To meet someone I know. The person who helped me. His name is Ezekiel. He knows a lot more about our situation than anyone else. But I know things too. We can help you."

He snorted. Hadn't said he needed help and he wasn't about to ask for it. But… this was good, right? "Is he family of yours? Your family full of spider-powered mutants, is that it?" He whispered, almost laughing at the idea.

She bit her lip. "No. My family didn't take finding out I was a mutant so well."

"…Why didn't you join the X-Men?" he asked, more curious than he was perturbed. "They'd help you."

"Why don't you?" She countered. "They don't exactly have a phoneline where you can enroll for 'freaky deeky mutant powers'." He wondered how much of it was true, but it wasn't like he'd ever tried asking about it. Wondered how much phone traffic they got from terrified parents who thought their kids were freaks. "Ezekiel said that was a bad idea. They get enough flak as it is too. Helping ungrateful people. Or their folks. No thanks."

Peter frowned. He was tired with this subject. "It's not _about_ if they're grateful or not. It's because it's the right thing to do."

"Says who?" she countered again, and again he didn't have a response. She was so close and that made him uneasy. His bones felt like jumping beans in his skin and she smiled like she knew it. "I think feeling gratitude is the right thing to do. Recognition too. Especially when you help people."

"Some things are more important than glory," Peter sighed.

"Whatever you say," Cindy yawned, bored and leaning against him again. She snorted. "Hey… did you know Eugene Thompson still wets the bed?" she asked. "I read his mind too. It's more difficult to do than yours, you're _always_ here up there, but I did it." She said it like it was something to be proud of. "He has a below average penis too. And he's a quickshot. Explains why he's such an asshole."

He cringed in disgust. Imagining what was in Flash's pants wasn't something he ever wanted to know. Seeing his own corpse was better. "I really don't want to know about another guy's junk."

Cindy ignored him. "You, though, you have a…" she blushed like she was too shy to say it, bit her lip. "Far bigger than average one. …Want me to give you a handjob?"

"What?" he snapped, jerking away from her, quieted down to not wake up the other passengers. "I- _what?"_

"Ya got a dig bic. You're pent up," she said. "You're balls must be blue. I could… help you," she said, putting a lock of hair behind her ear. "It'd be fun."

So she wasn't just a telepath, she was a pervert. "I have a girlfriend," he said. "No thanks."

"She's not here. Just a handy! It wouldn't even be cheating!" He glared at her. "I _could_ just make you take it out you know," she said, licking her lips. He tensed. "But I won't. Just a quick 1-2… Hundred. I'll swallow if you want."

Utterly unused to a girl blatantly propositioning him like that, _him,_ he tried to change the subject, and took a deep breath. "…W-Why did you name yourself Queen?"

Cindy played with her hair. " _'The_ Queen," she corrected. "And aside from the fact that the King eats the Queen's ass and she sucks his balls?" She teased, waggling her eyebrows, making him look away from her. "I grew up in Queens, I have spider powers, I control spiders. Spider-Queen, right?" He nodded slowly. "You have spider-powers, so you're like, the King to my Queen. We should consummate."

"We really shouldn't. We won't."

She giggled perversely. "Hm… You ever had a girl sit on your face before? You want to try it?"

"No," Peter said, remembering that morning with Kitty and how she'd fallen through him. That didn't count, but… his pants were getting tighter. Putting his head to the window again, he closed his eyes, smacked her hand away as it crawled along his thigh. Telepathic, perverted, and couldn't take no for an answer. It was going to be a long ride-

"No to which one though?" she chirped innocently, interrupting his thoughts. "Teasing you is going to be _so_ fun."

He sighed, tried to distract the both of them. "Where is this place of yours?"

"Massachusetts. We're going to see the Liberty Bell together. It'll be fun."

"That's in Philadelphia," Peter groaned.

"What you said. Sure thing."

It was going to be a long ride.


	12. The Queen's Man Part 2

**The Queen's Man Part 2**

* * *

 _Eight Months ago._

They'd spent a few days together. Days, couple of weeks maybe, it all melded together in a blurred canvas of experience for Peter. Thought he could make himself handle it—being home one day, such as it was, and then going cross country with a complete stranger the next. Stuck on a bus bound nowhere specific for him and somewhere for her, home for a girl named Cindy Moon. It wasn't the best recipe for privacy, but that he didn't need to figure out. Sitting next to a telepath never was.

It took a lot longer to get to Massachusetts than he'd thought, and even when he realized they were taking the scenic route, doubling back and wasting time he hadn't said anything. Wasn't like he had anywhere special to be. They hopped from one tourist bus to the other, scenic routes and quiet rides, dinner at pitstops and leg stretching breaks on layovers. Him and Cindy and the odd feeling in his stomach, his bones, that she brought up.

She paid his way after the first time—they both knew the lint masquerading as budget money in his pockets would only last so long. She'd known how he felt about that, too. How he grimaced at the thought of being a drain on someone else, a burden. Said it was all on Ezekiel's dime like that made it any better.

"He's rich," Cindy had said, as they sat down and chowed down on burgers somewhere past Apathy and Ignorance. Peter didn't even bother keeping track of where they went. "Owns his own company and _everything!_ You know I'm thinking of getting a Camaro for my next birthday?"

He worked his jaw, debating whether or not to talk. Wasn't like he had anything to hide. In the same vein, he didn't have anything to say that she didn't know. Or did he? He don't know how telepathy worked—it wasn't clairvoyance. Was it? God, he hoped not. If she could just go into his head whenever she wanted…

"Hey, if I could stop doing that I would. You think it's fun for me to see you dying over again? Or watching your Uncle get shot? No," she said, shaking a messy cheeseburger at him. She smiled, but he knew enough about smiles like that to know it was forced. "I didn't ask for this. Yeah, it's pretty awesome I get to see what gets you off so you can to smuggle time to nut in a bag and drown your room in air freshener-anal with your girlfriend, huh? Knew we had stuff in common—but I didn't ask for this."

He opened his mouth, closed it. Chose to ignore that. "You really see them?"

She looked down. "More than you, I think. At least I see more. Saw more. I 'saw' them too. Felt them. Not as much, they were… different. But just enough to know what they were thinking about when they died. What it felt like." She swallowed her food. "…Not good. Not fun. We should form a club."

Peter grunted. Yeah, the club of people who knew what being six steps from death was like by proxy. Or in his case, by experience.

"It was a hot, bright flash for… Quasimodo, let's call him, and for—I was thinking India, or Tarantula for the other one," she said leadingly, silently asking his opinion.

If there was one way to get over it, it was talking about it. Yeah, talking about the deaths of his clones. His life was taking a weird turn. Maybe this would be better than keeping it all in though. Cindy smiled slightly. "Uh…Tarantula," he said, and his stomach didn't turn as much from the effort.

"I knew you'd say that," she smirked. He rolled his eyes. "…Sudden suspension. Like he was flying. Didn't even realize it until… then nothing." She closed her eyes. Peter started to think that maybe he didn't need to know that. "Sorry. But yeah, when it comes to this, I'd be _more_ than happy to trade your spider-sense for my 'I didn't ask for this' tier power."

Peter put his face into his arms against the table. Another night of less sleep than he thought was comfortable. He hadn't thought how it'd affected her. Now that he was, it wasn't doing his opinion on telepathy any favors. Or himself. ""I'll bet. Sorry."

Cindy quirked her eyebrow, spoke in hushed tones now. "What is this, the contention convention? Why would you be sorry?" she asked, like it was a stupid thing to say. "Not _your_ fault. _You_ didn't kill them," she said, and he clenched his teeth. "And they didn't blame _you_. Quasimodo was—alright, I'll be honest, he was way too obsessed with that redhead _._ Wasn't thinking much about you… or himself. Just angry. A lot like you."

"Thank you _so_ much," he remarked, scathingly.

"It's not a _bad_ thing, just… if you thought about yourself a little bit more, or a lot, because you're kind of a -10 on a 1-100 self-worth scale, I don't think you'd have as many problems."

Peter closed his eyes. "I'll try to keep that in mind the next time someone is dying."

" _Not_ what I meant, stupid, but some people _deserve_ to die- don't look at me like that," she said, cutting him off. He grimaced at her. "You know it too, don't lie. I know what you wanted to do with Octavius, and that CIA guy with him. The asshole who killed your Uncle. Some people just have bad shit coming _because_ they're bad people. They deserve it." She scowled. "Not _you,_ though. You take it, but you don't deserve it."

He didn't respond to that. Wasn't the first time she'd hit the nail on its head. Yeah, it was unfair, with everything he'd done and what he'd got in return. Ended up being turned into the veritable Christopher Columbus for people with powers, and not the kind they told to second graders. Made things harder for them, for mutants, all because people like Jameson had an axe to grind, all because people like… like Aunt May, just didn't want to look past their own blind… what? Hatred? She didn't _hate_ him. She hated Spider-Man. All because of Peter. Who was…

Well, that was a conclusion that he could've gone without.

Cindy smiled softly at him. "See? _Some_ people? Assholes. They, do not _deserve,_ to be this… _responsibility_ thing you have. The only person you need to look out for is yourself and the people that care for you."

"Suppose that has a double meaning for you," he said, then bit the inside of his cheek.

Cindy looked proud more than anything. "Damn straight."

Peter knew that he managed to fail double at that cardinal rule, though. Shook his head. "If you heardthem, then-" he said awkwardly, referring to his clones.

Cindy shrugged. "The Little Ms. Tuffet version of you?"

"I think you're more of a little Ms. Tuffet," he said.

" _Oh, thank you!_ I always wanted to be a Disney princess, but you know, the part for Mulan was taken, and I don't think you'd find me nearly as cute if I was one of those Japanese spider-Oni or whatever. Maybe a Power Ranger?"

"That's not Dis-" he sighed. "Yeah, her. Her name's Jessica."

For a second Cindy frowned—so quick he almost didn't notice it, but on her porcelain skin it was jarringly noticeable. "I didn't know that. The other ones I could hear. They were… close enough to you, I guess. Quasimodo had a mind like a broken mirror. And the other ones-"

"I know about the other ones," he said. "Let's not go there."

She shrugged. " _Girl-_ you, was different. They were all like you, but different and she's _…_ different-er than different."

"She has a vagina."

"I _bow_ to my deductive King. You get trained by Batman or something?" Peter snorted. " _No. You_ are a guy. A really stuck on hero-mode guy, but whatever. They were guys too." She held one hand out, then the other. "…'Jessica' _,_ " she almost groaned, for some reason, "Is a girl. There is an entire world of differences in mental processes and faculties between you two. Yeah, she's you… as much as you would be if you were born with a twat instead of a third leg. So kind of… but not really."

"Am I seriously getting lessons on existential cloning theory from a telepath… Isn't this supposed to wait until _after_ the advent of artificial intelligences?"

"Hey, don't I know it," she said, kicked at his foot under their table. "But it's better than getting mindswapped by one," she said. He bristled. "What I'm _trying_ to say is we're, like, hooked up. Signal wise. Her signal is different. And it gives me a _headache…_ All of you have really nice _butts_ though…"

He tilted his head the slightest bit at that. If only he could give telepaths headaches. Maybe getting an annoying song to play in his head all the time would help. By now he noticed he was developing a mental censure to everything not TV-Y7 that she said.

She picked her burger apart and popped a cherry tomato into her mouth. Would have been more innocent if she hadn't poked it with a sharpened claw made of webbing and caressed it with her small, pink tongue while looking him in the eye. "But if you're wondering if I know about the dreams you have of her, yeah."

He froze. She waved him down. "If remembering hugging your literal self after a pretty crappy night makes the bad stuff go away, dude, that is… _so_ alright with me. I think it's pretty friggin' adorable."

He put his face in his hands. "Wonderful…"

"There's also a really interesting way your dreams can be construed as a way your subconscious is trying to overcome your… you-ness."

" _What_?"

"Usually most people have a death-wish—subconscious mind trying to screw them over. Subconscious mind's a bitch, lemme tell you. You though, you're _weird,_ " and she smiled, like that was an accomplishment. _"_ Yours is stubborn. Takes that death wish and gets into a knockdown, drag out brawl with it. Just doesn't know when to quit. Just like you," she said, looking strangely in admiration at him. "But you said it yourself. Thought it. Not the biggest fan of yourself. Finding comfort from being hugged by yourself—even if she has a twat—is, like, dream interpretation 101. Right up there next to dreaming that everything's alright and blondie isn't dead."

"…Alright, you need to get the _hell_ out of my head."

"If it helped you and I could, I would," she said softly. "It's not like I _want_ to be a Jean Grey to you, Peter. I just want to help."

So had he, but maybe she'd have a better track record than him and all his clones combined. He was quiet for a bit. "Yeah, well… Thank you so much for your permission to dream about myself," Peter grunted. "It's all I've ever wanted. _Really._ "

"All I've ever wanted was for my King to notice me. We've _fulfilled_ each other. Let's tie the knot."

"No."

Before his eyes, she rammed three fingers into a small hole she'd made out of webbing. "Plug my balloon knot?" she asked sweetly.

He ignored that. "So now I'm getting _psychology lessons_ from a telepath," he said. He took a chomp out of his food and sighed to himself. Far cry from homecooked meals, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He wasn't about to _beg,_ but he wasn't about to be an ingrate either. "Thanks for the food."

"No sweat, Big Dick," she said, and he choked a little. "I know a little about psychology. I don't spend most of my time watching you masturbate. …Alright, _all_ of it, I have schedules." Peter glared witheringly at her. "And if you want, I can also… probably, stop the dreams?" She said, rocking her hand uneasily. It didn't take a second for him to realize what you meant. " _Before_ you chew my head off… you could really get a lot out of chewing between my legs. But with no teeth."

"I'm not letting you anywhere _near_ my head," he said fiercely.

"Spidey, you don't have a choice. Neither of us do. I'm giving you options."

"Don'tcall me that."

She put her hands up. "Fine, fine… just so we're clear, that's a no on the facesitting right? Because it wasn't like your girlfriend could do that for you."

Peter ran a hand down his face. "We were interrupted. And if I knew that someone _else_ was watching us-"

"You would have still railed her at the table if you had the time…" she bit her lip, popping an eyebrow up. "And hey, we're at a table."

" _Jesus car-tossing Christ."_ He threw his hands up. "What is _with_ you telepaths anyway? Are _all_ of you perverts and voyeurs?"

"That's pretty powerist of you," she remarked, snickering. "I can't speak for Ms. 'Look at me, I have telepathy _and_ telekinesis', but… yeah, probably," she grinned. "I'm just saying, a telepath messed up your chance to lose your virginity with your sweet, caring mutant girlfriend, and Marvel Girl over there was probably rubbing herself raw watching you wet-hump her friend at the kitchen table. I know I was," she bit her lip. "And at least I'm honest about it. So why not let another telepathic mutant girl take _responsibility_ for it?"

Peter looked at her with half lidded, tired eyes. "I think I might actually hate you."

She smiled. "We both know _that's_ not true. So, like I was saying… thinking about getting a Camaro for my next birthday. "

He snorted. "You even know how to drive?"

"Do you?"

"No."

"We'll learn together then."

* * *

It didn't take Peter long to go back on his decision about the nightmares. Doing it to help him was one thing. He didn't to be helped, didn't think he needed to. At least the dreams about Ben were something he had months of experience dealing with. This was no different. Cindy doing it to help herself was another, and he… was strangely okay with that. Maybe because everyone who tried to help him always ended up getting inevitably screwed over.

Cindy was having _his_ nightmares. That made it his… God,responsibility. Last thing he wanted was someone else—who didn't deserve it-getting screwed over by his problems. If he could stop it himself, he would, but his track record and the feeling in his gut said that'd make things worse.

So he let her do it. Back on the bus—back on _a_ bus—Cindy called it a 'Jean Grey'. Piss-poor joke if there ever was one.

He half thought he was going to end up in a body halfway across the country. She said she wasn't that strong a telepath, it didn't _work_ that way, but she was good enough to be his Tylenol for easy sleeping. His cute, mutant girl- _space_ -friend Tylenol, and promised, gave her word she wouldn't do anything untoward.

Said he was such a stubborn jackass with a willful subconscious she wouldn't be able to. And apparently, that was extremely rare _._ Peter didn't want to know how she knew that and he had a few ideas already.

What occurred to him was that she was being presumptuous. And that he could always have worse friends. Like a corpse. Gwen Stacy, RIP, probably wasn't interested in the same things he was. Probably wanted to punch him in the face…

She puther forhead to his and her hands on the sides of his head. His spider-sense worked and tweaked like a Geiger counter when she did that. He could feel her in his head and it raised the hairs on the back of his neck, Subtle and soft, but there. From that point on he knew he'd be able to recognize her, look for the signs, the way her thoughts differed from his. Admittedly, there was a hell of a lot less self-loathing. Great. He really was exceptional.

She went further than Jean had gone and the sound of her thoughts was all an entirely different feeling from Jean's telepathy. More… intuitive. Intimate. Like it was in his ear. It was a tickling feeling that didn't do the sensation of his bones seeming like they wanted to outgrow his skin any favors, like scratching a limb that was dead asleep.

And then it was done.

He didn't feel different, but Cindy looked proud with herself, She was sweating a little, and before he could do anything she pecked his forehead. "You were verybrave today," she said, as if he was a scared kid who just got a shot. He didn't push her away, not after that. Too busy trying to focus his eyes.

She noticed and stayed right where she was. "How do you feel?" she asked. It was night time again, and the dark stretch of road from their last stop onto their next—wherever it was—was lit by the odd street light and sparse traffic. The bus was quiet and he could barely see her. Could feel her breath though, could taste it.

Peter backed away and realized he was already against the window. "Not about me," he said, awkwardly turning away. "Did this for you."

"There you go again…" she said fondly. He saw her smile, but then saw her eyes gleam red. She noticed him staring, even in the dark, and blinked. "Oh, uh, sorry," she said, blinking the red away. "That happens when I get… excited. Anyway… I said it before. We can help each other, Peter. You're not alone. Or, you don't have to be."

He ran his hands through his hair. "Yeah, thanks… I think. If I find anything wrong with my head though, I'm-"

"Going to be very sexually egalitarian with me," she finished. "Hm… there's an idea. Synonymous with sodomy, if you think about it."

"I'd rather not," he said, and paused. "You're a… weird girl, Cindy. But thanks. I mean it."

She leaned back in her seat, then against him. Made herself comfortable and he was more comfortable than he'd been. "I know. Hey, we rule together. King and Queen. We're a _team,_ united we stand, yadda yadda yadda, blah blah blah."

Peter considered that. Couldn't help his mind storming his mind thoughts of how that would work, exactly.

"My superhero name would have been… Silk, I think?" she said, wriggling her fingers and spinning a silky looking long glove over one arm. " _'_ The Queen' just sounds cooler. …I think we would have been good together. And I know we _will_ be good together."

He didn't say anything. Maybe she was right. Maybe not. Either way, it was time to get some sleep.

* * *

After, he'd managed to get through a night without dreaming about Ben's death, or his own. And then two, and then four. A couple of days of that, in celebration, they had gone to Philadelphia. Cindy's treat, Ezekiel's dime. Peter recognized he was in a markedly better mood—not seeing himself get Sonny Corleone'd or javelined went a long way. Cindy said she was sleeping better too. He elected to believe her—if only because for once he was waking up before she did.

They, she, had rented a room for them, didn't tell him where, and then they'd seen the Liberty Bell together. It was their first stop after a day cheesesteak sandwiches. That definitely wasn't tuna casserole cooked by Aunt May, but Peter thanked Little Ms. Tuffet for it anyway.

Cindy'd taken her phone and asked him to snap her lifting the Liberty Bell, since he was such a staunch believer in the equality of her strength. And when she tried to lift it and to keep the crowd from seeing them with her powers, like Jean had with the X-Men's jet in Queens… Peter heard the pop of her spine. She succeeded though… and had nearly thrown her back out in the process, ended up with a splitting headache for a better part of the day. Peter supposed he was supposed to feel guilty. Apparently he and Jean Grey made it look easy.

He carried her back to the place, stopping to admire that it was a pretty nice hotel, and to give her a look that she didn't meet. It was a place that made the Parker monthly expense look like chump change in comparison. He didn't deserve to stay there on someone else's paycheck.

"All on Ezekiel's credit card," Cindy had repeated.

The room came equipped with King and Queen beds, When he saw that he all but dropped her on hers, the Queen, and mostly hesitantly went to his. Didn't need eyes in the back of his head to know she had the smuggest grin possible on her face.

She limped to the bath since he wasn't about to strip her and put her in there himself, and tried to make himself comfortable. Watch TV. It was easier than he thought. He was in Philly-freakin'-delphia. Ben always wanted to go there with the family. Wondered for a second if that's why Cindy brought him there. Didn't matter anyway. He was already there. _'Well Uncle Ben,'_ he thought, _'I made it.'_

And an hour later Cindy came out of the bathroom naked.

Well, that wasn't accurate. She was covered where it didn't count. At her shoulders a towel hung just over the slight buds of her breasts, small and petite like the rest of her, and her ivory skin was flushed pink, the wet _tap_ of her feet as she walked by his bed the only noise she made, like it was no big deal, but he knew it was. Watched her walk with poise. Dainty and faux clueless, her dark hair streaming down to the small of her back as the mist from the shower chased after her…

And when she sat down, the reality of rooming with a perverted girl with telepathy and a microscopic brainfilter started to set in and stare him in the face. More accurately, her pussy was staring him in the face. All puffy and reddened and wet… He looked away, of _course_ he did. _Kitty._ Another word for _-_

He'd never seen one bare. Then again, Cindy had probably known that. Of course she did.

Peter was aware that being a hormonal teenager was a trial in itself. Being one who had last reached some semblance of… relief when he'd been prepared to lose his virginity, take his girlfriend's. Dry humping Kitty at the table, _rutting_ against her ass with his arms wrapped around her while she ground back and breathed heavy into his ear.

Cindy noticed him staring. She brought her leg up, putting one toned, smooth thigh on display like he wasn't a hardup, red-blooded, _hard_ up male teenager. Was that a smirk on her face? "Sorry, I really just needed to play with myself. Did you want to go in? You could have joined me." She spread her legs the slightest bit, all the while weaving a stocking around her leg.

Peter got up and stalked into the bathroom. He hadn't gotten off in days. She knew. Cindy Moon was a royal bitch and she was doing this on _purpose._

Her voice chased after him into the bathroom. He shut the door on it. "Let me know if you need some help in there, partner!"

"I hate you!" he called back.

"No you don't!"

* * *

Other cities, other places he'd never been. Peter wondered if he should keep a journal to store all his thoughts. Then again, with Cindy acting as his de facto teller, it wasn't like he needed one.

They'd gone to Baltimore, back on their way to Massachusetts. Celebrating being newly minted 'spider-besties', all because he hadn't immediately shot the concept down. For what she'd done for him, Peter taught her how to websling in the Baltimore nighttime skyline. In return, Cindy had offered, not for the first time, to let him fling his jizz in the back of her throat; they both knew the last time he had managed to get off was before any of this.

She was nothing if not a very giving friend. "The 'bestie'," she called herself. He'd never had a bestie before.

By the time they'd reached their final destination together—and something about saying it like that made him shiver—he'd developed a resistance to her telepathy either out of pure stubbornness or like an immunity to a cold. She'd used it so much, he'd been so on guard against it, he learned how to stop some thoughts from coming up by going Zen. Wondered if it would carry over to any other telepath, but keeping Cindy from knowing about the progressively weird direction his dreams about the girl-him and him were going was just fine by him.

He had gotten intensely aware of her breath on his neck while they hugged, and if that was weird, and it _was_ , then realizing how she'd give him this soft, lip-biting look… or how she smelled like gunmetal and smoke, sweaty and matted and tired, like him, but still so sweet… and then he'd wake up. He started to think that it went a little past self-healing. Maybe it had something to do with his straining testicles. Maybe he could add narcissist to his list of descriptors after everything else.

When they'd rode into Massachusetts a limo was waiting for them. Cindy, being Cindy, knew what happened the last time he got in one of those. Nearly eating a guy while rocking the Richard Parker and Edward Brock Sr. _cancer_ suit had him sicker than he thought and she picked up on that. Got them an uber. Had her feet in his lap the entire time while he watched the scenery pass by with a quickly dawning sense of realization at the large expanses of land and nothing but green grass and blue skies.

She cracked jokes about them making their own spider-themed X-Men, and their Danger Room could get set up in the basement gym. They'd have an obstacle course and would hit the showers together, all sweaty and spent and tired, but still satisfied. Subtlety was not a power of Cindy Moon.

Took him a bit to process that. When he had, they'd arrived and his mouth was wide open. They stepped out, Cindy with a few bags of clothes she'd helped herself to buying over the course of their trip. Peter looked at her, then at the gleaming white building in front of them. "…You live in a freaking _mansion?"_

"Yeah, don't you?" He stared at her. She hissed. "Sorry. I'm _royalty,_ and you're my King. We're gotta sleep in style."

He laughed despite himself, took a breath of fresh air along with her. Maybe… maybe this could work. He didn't know about being an X-Man, a spiderman, but it'd be nice to not have to hide his abilities anymore. Not have to walk around eggshells because May might have a heart attack and hate him for that. Been there, did that. Not to have to fail spectacularly in gym class. He could run, loosen his collar for a bit. Or a bit longer than that. Let loose…

Cindy smiled at him. The front doors to the place opened. Out came a man dressed in a black suit, no tie. Just whitening hair and outstretched arms. Cindy ran to him like he remembered running to Uncle Ben, called out his name like Peter remembered calling out Ben's. "Ezekiel!"

Peter hung back and watched, feeling more like an intruder than anything else. Ezekiel looked at him, smiled in greeting and started to walk toward him. His voice was friendly, easy, like Ben's had been, his hand gnarled with working years, stuck out. "Peter? Cindy has told me somuch about you. I'm a fan of your work."

And Peter looked at the outstretched hand… and suddenly became aware that there weren't any buildings around for him to swing from.

And that his spider-sense was going off.


	13. Backwardly Therapeutic Part 1

_Seven months ago._

Peter didn't know where he he was going. Supposed at this point, it didn't really matter. Not when he could still see her eyes, all red. Not when no matter how far he got he could still hear her screaming at him to get out and never come back. And the look on her face when those spiders had stopped short of swarming him, like they couldn't bare to go any further. It Almost made him laugh. Guess Cindy'd been right. He really was the King to her Queen.

He could still hear her voice. She was talking, like she was right in his ear, right next to him. _Fucking telepathy_... "You know, I guess the Bugle was right about you," she said, all-casual, conversational. "That article they printed after George Stacy died? _'Spider-Man –Murderer, Menace, Monster!'_ You know, _that_ one?" She laughed. "' _Spider-Man_ Robs Teenage Girl of Her Loving Father'. 'Spider-Man _Murders_ Captain George Stacy _'."_ She let it hang, let the gutpunch sizzle and burn and the kick to his teeth sink in. "Spider-Man… Menace, killer… Yeah," she hissed. "Sounds about right."

He kept moving. Was night now. Managed to hoof his way to some place, some ugly, slimy back alley where the only lights were red and flickering. Trash was everywhere, the streets shiny with rain, sound of cars going to and from some place on streets in a city he didn't know. He could see perfectly in the dark, was almost instantly aware of just how many arachnids there were around him. 27.

The building to his right was boarded up, condemned. Barely pausing to make sure he was alone he leapt up to a window and pushed the boards back like they weren't nailed in and crept inside. Third floor, 86 spiders. Had to be past 11 o'clock at night but he hadn't slept in since 9 in the morning. Two days ago.

The place was rife with cobwebs. Third floor had somewhere between 40 or 50 spiders… 49, one just ate the other. Webbed it up and sank its fangs right into it. Just when he was about to fall asleep, she started talking again, knowing exactly what she was doing.

"Remind you of something, doesn't it?" She asked brightly. "Because it reminds _me_ of something. Ripping him out of so much webbing… and seeing what you _did_ to him. I _honestly_ don't know if he died from asphyxiation or _blunt physical trauma,_ you know," she said, then her voice lowered and she hissed. _"But I do know It should have been you."_

He tucked into his jacket and tried to go to sleep. Bit of a hard sell, considering. He rolled to face away from the wall and, eyes wide open, he could see the room like it was lit up. Could see the silhouettes of the spiders crawling toward him too. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck, tickled something primal in him seeing all of them like that, so many legs. They stopped, but the voice in his head didn't. It just kept talking.

"Aw, is Spider-Man afraid of spiders? Do you just want to punch one, an _old,_ one, to death? Huh?" Cindy taunted. He tried to tune her out. "All Ezekiel wanted to do was _help_ you, Peter. All _I_ wanted to do was help you." That was a lie. "Then you should have taken his place, found another _way!_ You're a hero, aren't you?! _'Spider-Man'?_ You should have _saved_ him-" her voice quieted. "Oh, wait, that's _right._ Said it yourself- not so good at the hero thing, are you? Bad habit of letting people down? I guess I should have believed you, instead of believing _in_ you. Because you let _me_ down, Peter _._ Just like you let _everyone_ down."

Maybe going to sleep was a mistake. Just like everything else.

He could see Cindy sneer just before he hit the mute button in his head, hard. All muffled and garbled and barely there, he heard the noise hiss, " _Yeah. It was."_

* * *

He was pretty sure he was in Kentucky now. Or Ohio, somewhere around the border. It only registered to him because the last time he heard It was back at the start of Pennsylvania. Jersey had been as fun as he'd imagined. It'd been a few weeks since then. Eight? Nine?

Peter was looking through his pockets—dirty old coat that fit his new stature now, dirty old shoes, dirty old jeans. _'Look like a fucking hobo…'_ he muttered, then grunted. Not eight, not nine. Just five bucks left—not even in a single bill. Sad chump change between coins and a couple of bills.

He heard It garbling in like a bad radio transmission. Wasn't the first time, just the first time that it was so clear. Wasn't a transmission he was interested in heard for exactly the 123rd time unless It'd be broadcasting vaudeville runs of Burns and Allen. He doubted that.

"…Peter?" He took sifted through jingling coins in his pocket, took them out to count. A couple quarters—maybe he'd be able to scrape a drink and lunchmeat without looking like a complete sad-sack…"Peter, I know you can hear me."

The real question was if he wanted to go for high society cuisine or not. Spring for the designer lunch meats like turkey and a bottle of coke, or play the long game and stretch between bread, a gallon of water, and bologna? "Peter." Choices, choices.

"Peter, I- just… Just come back, okay? We can- It'll be alright. It'll be _okay. Y_ ou don't have to do this anymore. I... I'm sorry."

Fuck, why not splurge? Get some mustard to go with it. He was going to run out of cash anyway, why not have a serviceable last meal before that?"Don't make things hard on yourself, don't-"

He counted one last time, then started walking to the nearest store—an all night 7-Eleven down on the corner. Last he'd been there, the staff looked at him like he was more inclined to bump the place over instead of buy anything. Couldn't really blame them-even though he wasn't sure if it was because his clothes were ratty or because he hadn't had a bath in over a week and the dirt was starting to crust up his face, or because he had the shaggy hair and face of a box car druggy. Probably all of the above.

The hairs on the back of his neck and forearms prickled. He stopped short. Slight buzz in the back of his head—little threat, nothing major, maybe even a drunk driver about to hit him. He looked across the street and spotted them; a group of schmoes on the opposite corner palling around like old friends—behind the streetlight and in the dark where it'd be hard for anyone else to see them.

He kept walking, all casual, and they walked across the street, just as casual. Maybe it was a bad thing to profile, but it wasn't his -10 on the self-worth scale that told him they weren't happy to see him. When he'd reached the small parking spaces outside they'd cut him off, backed him away from the security cameras and into the dark

One reached into his pants and Peter grimaced at the sight of a handle coming from inside the guy's boxers _._ He didn't want to know what the fuck the gun had seen, but was pretty sure you're not supposed to pack heat where you pack your meat was a bad idea—but so was backing him into a corner with no prying eyes. If he said to the cops he had tried backing up and avoiding a fight, it'd be falsifying a police report. He hadn't been raised to do that.

One of them made the universal gesture for whatever he had on him—a gun in the face. A slight grin started to tug at his mouth, a feeling in his gut. Could hear the blood between his ears while the world seemed to get slower. Didn't know what it was, but he was beginning to enjoy it—this feeling before a fight, during it, and after—the adrenaline that, before, back in New York, it made him hazy and nervous. Now it was just stone cold focus and fuel.

And It wasn't like he had be around when the cops came, not when these guys were obviously just like well-seasoned entrepreneurs interested in sharing wealth. No, no need for cops here.

The gun in his face popped off a few seconds after he spit on one of their shoes. He moved to the side, barely, ears ringing and chest heaving with the start of excitement, was spoiling for a fight now like it'd made his night.

Took a bit for their shock to wear off, apparently. By the time he crunched the metal in his hands like an eggshell they hadn't moved. When he crunched the guy;s forearm, he screamed and Peter could see the looks on their faces. One backed up when he grinned and he could see the red pinpoints of his eyes in theirs. He could barely hear _It_ now; all there was was that feeling, that rush of something heavy and irritating that made it too easy to get angry and keep on hitting… He hadn't been bothering _anyone,_ and they put a gun to his head. Was gonna kill him, just like Ben,

He grabbed one and lobbed him across the street. Barely heard the dull thud of a body hitting a brick building because he was moving to the next. The fight was over before it started though, with the phantom sensations of the smack and feel of his fists hitting flesh and the sound of them crying out while he tossed them like ragdolls just making the feeling heavier, better. Worse.

Now they were just bodies around him. Breathing, but barely. And it felt _good._ Not good enough to finish the job, no, not like the last time. "Peter I am so, sor-" The voice in his head trailed off, broken sounding. "That feeling… it's called chaotic energy. Just thought you should know." Then, It went away.

In the dark he rifled their stuff. Four hundred dollars. Was gonna eat good tonight, definitely gonna get that coke. He started to walk to the 7-11 again high on the feeling. Chaotic energy, huh? Not bad. Not bad at all.

Then he stopped, turned, and helped himself to a mostly new, slightly spat on pair of shoes.

* * *

 **Backwardly Therapeutic Part 1  
**

 **Catching up.  
**

* * *

Jessica listened. Right there, on the couch with the TV off, with no noise but the sound of Peter's voice and the occasional siren outside.

In the back of her head she thought it was weird how Peter wasn't instantly moving to see what the hubbub was, like she would've had the inclination to if he wasn't there, like she knew he used to. But he used not grimace at the mention of Spider-Man, cringe while being called that, It made her think, play connect-the-dots in her head and picture that was starting to form didn't do her afterglow any favors, just the pit in her stomach.

The look on his face while he told her, all casual—like it was no big deal… Nobody wrote a book on how to recite the events of being disowned. At least, she didn't think anyone had– had never thought there'd be a reason for her to read up on that subject. Peter always had that ugly, vague thought in the back of his head. Jessica was able to look back without his worries and worry _for_ him. She knew his mind just as well as she did hers— _no one_ knew Peter like she did.

She knew that doomsday scenario of his involved a lot of yelling, a _lot_ of grounding, maybe even some fainting with a distinct "No more fighting crime for you, young man!" Not… not this. Not kicking him to the curb and... Just imagining it brought back phantom pangs of unease in her gut. Just knowing it made her… _angry._

Angry? At _Aunt May_? It was just as laughable as knowing Peter to the curb. After everything that he'd done.

The picture started to get downright ugly when Peter told her of how it'd been after she left, when she'd booked it so fast out of Queens that she'd been to Maryland within the week. But Peter… Peter had been in an empty house with nothing but his the result of his bad luck and his nightmares, Stuck with all the awful thoughts in his head that Jessica knew could pop up,

The bitter icing on the cake was that she'd figured that he at least would have had Gwen or Harry around to pick him up, or something. It wasn't until she'd gotten access to the internet that she realized _they_ were dead too. Back in the zoo, with her 'siblings', they didn't exactly get TV time before bed. No, they just got an IV-drip of sleepy-time when it was time for lights out.

And the thing that broke them out, that _Carnage,_ that chimera? Jessica hadn't known that it'd been the thing to kill Gwen. Hadn't realized just what it had meant for Peter to see it come back around like some living nightmare- only that she'd managed to sweep him away when things were getting really, _really_ crappy that night.

Only to get him into another fight. Where he got to watch himself die. And then leave him with the aftermath. That night, the chimera, and the clones, _her_ … _everything_. They were all just his bad luck, but now here they were. No way in _hell_ did she deserve any sort of sister of the year prize. Not even 'kind of okay sibling of the week' consolation prize. Hell no.

Jessica kept an expressionless face when he told her about Cindy Moon, the adjectival Asian pervert mutant spider-girl—who sounded like a stalker with boundary issues, honestly. She tried to smile when he told her about what happened with Kitty with no pause, no awkwardness. Jessica could _feel_ it. That ease, that complete openness that let him talkto her just like she could talk to him.

Recalling how he'd dry humped the girlfriend she'd pretty much stolen his virginity away from, if not him, was the only time he'd laughed.

Then he told her about getting out of town. Peter told her about life on the road. Baltimore, Philly, Massachusetts, a bunch of places in between. All within the _first_ month. She'd been in Baltimore around that one point, wondered if they'd been in the same place and hadn't even known it.

He told her how Cindy got rid of his nightmares and how that was… fantastic, but the pit in Jessica's stomach got worse, dense and ugly. She hadn't seen Peter in almost nine months, didn't want to ask about what happened after – and that's when she remembered his crack about drinking. He'd been joking. Right?

He'd said he was _homeless_. Said that he dreamt about people dying when he wasn't dreaming about… _this._ Them. Her, because apparently he'd been just as thirsty for her as she was for him, and had gone through the entire 'Am I a narcissist' because of it.. But Jessica was having a hard time feeling any kind of pleasure or pride from that. She wasn't that great and those didn't sound like good dreams to her.

They'd moved from their position on the couch, her laying atop of him, to something more solemn. Jessica had her legs crossed and sat in front of him and Peter, with his long arms, had one stretched behind the couch, legs splayed casually. Bothered her that he was so casual about this, because he shouldn't have had to be. Another dot, another pic, another thing that he'd had dealt with on his own.

She decided to rip it off like a band-aid, and almost instantly bit her tongue because of it. "Do you…" she started, trying not to wince. "You still have bad dreams?"

Peter didn't answer. Then he shrugged. "…Eh."

"Peter."

Like he could sense what she thought about that, and he probably could, Jessica felt a tickle like the one he described—it was all tingly and warm and completely the opposite of how she felt about herself right now—Peter tried to play it off. "Not with you around," he said. "It wasn't... that bad, Jess."

Jessica wondered what his definition of 'that bad' was, but then realized she didn't need to wonder. She knew, and knew that he needed to open a dictionary every once in a while. She scowled. "Before I say, 'That's a load of crap'," she said, breathing in slowly, "Define 'wasn't that bad', please."

Peter made a face, like he knew it was a dumb thing to say. He did, and Jessica knew he did. She knew he had a habit of downplaying his problems. "…I'm used to it," he corrected, finally, after a few seconds of her waiting. Then he made another face.

Jessica's mouth opened to let loose one hell of a retort, "How is that any better-!"

He stopped her. "It's _fine,_ Jess."

"Fine, _not_ better. Then _h_ _ow_ is it fine? It is _not_ fine!" She almost yelled, and started to count her fingers. "You said you had dreams of people _dying,_ Peter. You said you were homeless, you were _drinking…"_

He clenched his jaw, rubbed his forehead. "Told you this was a bad idea…" he muttered.

She scoffed. "No, you said you'd rather go at it again than talk about it. That it'd be good to get off your chest." She stretched a smile on her face. "So come on. Let's be therapeutic together, brother."

"Jess, my therapy is having sex with you," he said bluntly, catching her off guard. "I love it, it feels great and makes me feel so much better. _You_ make me feel better," he said, looking at her hard. "That's all I need."

She bit her lip, not sure how to respond other than a lame 'Ditto' that she had to chomp down on her tongue to keep inside. "You said you were drinking."

"I was joking."

"You weren't joking," she said, and slapped his knee lightly. She didn't punch him, would never do that. She wasn't some dumb girl without a handle on her emotions. Jessica knew exactly what she was feeling. Pissed off at the world and _protective_ of Peter, and she was at home with that. Because just like she remembered, her twin had a bad habit of caring less about himself than he should have.

"Then I was _stupid,"_ Peter retorted quickly. "I was a dumb, angsty teenager stuck up in and angry at my own problems-"

"Newsflash: you _are_ a teenager! And you have _every reason_ to be angry!"

"I don't _look_ like teenager Jess!" He snapped, then calmed himself, shook his head. "Not like I used to... and I'm fine with that. _So_ fine because I haven't-" he swallowed. "Never mind."

He moved to get up, but Jessica stopped him. She stood up and stood over him, well aware that if he stood up he could pick her up like a toy, one handed. He looked up at her and she didn't need twin-ESP to see his mind was changing on this. Not _this, them_ , but being just being open and talking. With her. That didn't feel so good.

"No, no. No never mind. We're getting through this. Together _._ I'm _not_ leaving you alone with this. Not again." A moment passed. Jessica knew his mouth was opening to shut down her idea that she ever left him with anything, and she stared at him hard enough to shut that down. Her determined scowl melted down to something weak. "Come on, Pete… please."

Peter laughed. The sound alone of it made her reach out and grab his hand. To make her or him feel better, Jessica didn't know. But it worked, so points for innovation. "Right, right…" Peter said. He breathed in. "Was gonna say that teenagers don't do the shit I did." He snorted. "Yeah, bullshit. They drink, smoke, do drugs. I wasn't that that stupid. Don't like drinking either, just… it was something, I guess."

"Coping," Jessica said quietly.

Peter rolled his eyes, "Don't tell me _you_ know stuff about psychology too…"

With a weak smile, Jessica pointed at herself. "Hello? Kind of have to." The smile faded. "I still remember the things you do. Some of them, and what they meant, how it made you feel. So yeah, kind of have to."

Peter cringed. "It doesn't need to have 'felt' like anything," he said, almost shivering in disgust. "It happened. I got up. I fall, I get _up_."

Jessica gripped his hand tight, though hers could barely cover his. "Yeah, I remember that too. Uncle Ben would have wanted you to at least put some alcohol on the scraped knees and everything. You know," she said with a sardonic smirk and nod. "Not drink it."

Peter let out a weak laugh. "Yeah, well… alcohol burns. Tastes like crap, too. So does whiskey. Don't even get me started on corner store beer. Think they still call it hootch? I mean-"

"Pete. You're rambling."

He grunted. "Yeah… Yeah, I am."

He got up. The symbolism wasn't lost on Jessica. Peter looked… tired. Resigned. He sighed and walked from the couch to the bedroom where the newest member of their Weird alternative family slept. She held onto him the whole way and Peter rubbed her knuckles with his larger fingers even though he walked like a death march.

They walked into the room and Jessica followed his eyes as he looked up to the ceiling. "What- oh," she said, seeing two duffel bags webbed there. In between the sex and looking for clothes to wear, she hadn't spotted them earlier.

Peter extracted his hand from hers. "Gimme a sec," he said, and it was just that. He was so tall he almost didn't need to crawl to the ceiling, but Jessica saw why he did. He worked his fingers like knives through the webbing, plucking them like cords and they popped and gave way. He caught them before they hit the floor and woke up their very own Mexican Jean Grey-girl—with authentic telepathic capability.

Peter took the bags out of the room and tossed them like paper balls onto the couch. They landed heavy, fat with something. Her awkward-mode trigger wondered if it was a jumbo-size fly-burger he was trying to woo her with. Then Peter went over and opened one. Money spilled out onto the couch like stuffing from a ripped teddy.

"I took these right before we met up," he said simply, honestly. Jessica appreciated it, even while her mind was reconciling what her eyes were seeing, counting the wads of cash. Enough to fill up a bathtub, at least. Enough to be over a couple million in one bag alone. Peter smiled thinly. "I was in this bar- yeah, drinking. And this a _sshole_ comes in acting like he and his friends on the place. Not exactly an altar boy troupe, so I follow them, of course I do because I can't mind my own fucking business…" he hissed to himself. "Figure it could be drugs, could be guns. Don't care. I see the money. I wanted it, so I took it."

"It wasn't drugs, was it," Jessica said, not asked. She didn't hesitate to look from the money to Peter, gluing her eyes to his opposing ones. "It was her. This money was for her and the bodies at the docks…"

"Yeah, it was for her, The rest is history. Take her to the hospital, meet you. We fucked," he smirked, waiting for her to alleyoop the joke, but she wasn't biting. His smirk faded beneath her stare. Jessica was frowning at him. "…Things with Cindy… didn't work out."

"I can see that," she muttered, and hated herself for how sarcastic it came off as.

"Yeah, well, Ezekiel took her in when she had nothing. No family, no friends. Her folks aren't the biggest fans of mutants—she kept the voicemails." Peter shrugged. "He was _family_ to her _,_ Jess. Betterthan family because he didn't abandon her."

Jessica looked up. Peter looked her in her eyes. "I was just some idiot she admired, but _Ezekiel_ was her hero. Her fucking Superman _,_ Jess _._ Remind you of anyone?" George and Gwen Stacy came to mind. "Yeah, well...," Peter trailed off, "To nobody's surprise… I got him killed too."

* * *

"…Come again?" Jessica asked intelligently.

Peter's face was blank and still. "I got Ezekiel Simms killed. Or killed him, depending on who you ask. Probably more accurate that way."

Everything clicked into place. A jigsaw puzzle that felt as ugly as it looked. Jessica could have sworn she heard someone talking. Just a soft, barely audible, "I'm _sorry."_

Peter shook his head, clearing cobwebs that weren't really there. "After that, I was dropping drug dealers and gang members before I got here, _Houston._ Just to get something to eat." He worked his jaw, "Because you know, killing someone's father figure makes you a bit of a persona non grata." He gestured to the money. "And when I got tired of that, I did this."

He sat down, heavily at a stool in the kitchen, head down. Then he looked up, eyes more angry than they were glistening, but Jessica could see a reddish tinge there before he looked down again, barely able to look at her. "And Ezekiel wasn't the only one. That Salamander fuck—at least he didn't have anyone to mourn him. Probably."

He breathed deep, swallowed thick. "Bunch of other stuff. Stupid, mystic _shit_ , but there's the important crap. You wanted to know how I got here—there you go… So, still feel like sticking around?" Peter laughed. "Hey, you were right. This _is_ therapeutic."

Jessica was already on her feet. In a second she went from the couch to the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him hard enough to crack his spine. She jostled him, squeezed tight. He didn't hug her back, so she squeezed tighter until he did. Near foot of height on her or no, she still had spider-strength. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and shook, seeing the scar-tissue of the bite marks. The vampire bite.

' _Fuck,'_ she thought. _'What kind of life are we living?'_

When Jessica pulled away she planted her forehead to his and shook her head again and again, like that'd get the bad thoughts away. She could feel those now, wondered if she was the latest symptom of whatever he had on his brain to attract mind readers, but that didn't matter. Cindy Moon didn't matter, Jean Grey didn't, none of them.

She climbed into his lap, feeling comfortable and at peace there, and they sat like that for minutes. Soft sounds of her breath against his. Her arms around his neck, his hands falling to the small of her back. No kissing, no nothing. Just her trying to be the good sibling for once, because god, she had a _lot_ to make up for.

"I was a waitress," Jessica said finally. "A few times, between states. To make enough money to get a room at a motel. There were these bikers, regulars, that'd pull into an IHOP I was working at. Just a couple week long gig, They'd bothering my manager, threaten him and the staff. He was a nice guy, a 'kid' _our_ age working his way through college," she said pointedly. "My last day there, I tracked them down, _en homme_ , and beat the stuffing out of them. All of them. I took their money and added it to the tip jar when no one was looking."

Peter let out a short snort, "Having trouble seeing how that makes you as bad as me," he said, looking anywhere but her.

She made him. Jessica grabbed his hands and looked at him until he looked back and their mismatched eyes were meeting. "You didn't do it for fun," she said, not asked.

Peter shook his head. "…No."

Jessica nodded , rested her chin on top of his head. Could feel the heat of his breath against her collarbone and she was fine with that as she rubbed his scalp. "You didn't _actually_ think I was going to leave, did you?" He didn't answer. "Pete, I-" She closed her eyes. "No. Just… _no._ Pete, you're _not_ a monster," she said vehemently, looking him in the eye.

"Menace, monster. Differing schools of thought on that," he snarked.

" _Don't care,"_ she hissed. "You. Are _not_. A _monster. Not_ a murderer, not a killer or some cold, unfeeling _thing._ Monsters don't worry about being monsters, Peter. And even if you _were_? I'd either bring you back or be one right with you," she said fiercely. "Because where you go, _I_ go. That's never gonna change."

She pressed her lips to his, all soft, all chaste and innocent like that's what either of them were on their best day. Then to his chin, her hands on his face, and then everywhere else from his shoulders to the bite-mark on his neck to drive it into his thick, shaved head that she wasn't about to walk away or push him away. Not like May, not like Cindy. When she was through she wrapped her arms around his neck and settled into his lap again.

He was quiet for a bit, cleared his throat. "I didn't- what makes you think I thought that?"

"Because I know you," she said, like the answer was obvious. It should have been. She cleared her throat and poked him in the chest. "Dork. And twin-ESP goes both ways, remember. It's Weird like that."

"Yeah… Weird," Peter said. He dropped his head into the crook of her neck, all energy gone save for what it took to kiss up to her jawline. Soft, chaste pecks that trailed to her lips where it was half kiss, half sigh.

Jessica rotated in his lap, her back facing his front, and crossed her legs in his lap. They sat like that and she wasn't about to ask him to continue because he didn't need to, it wasn't going to change anything for her. If he wanted to keep going, she'd be going with him. She wasn't going to go away and would repeat that until he understood. To help with that, she wrapped his arms around her waist, put his hands at her stomach.

"Ezekiel," Peter said, "he… tried to kill me. Or get me killed. End result's the same, I guess."

"Then he got what he deserved," Jessica said vehemently, protectively.

He nestled into her chest and she closed her eyes, faintly aware of the baritone of his voice meaningfully sounding out, "Thanks, Jess," while she lounged against him, humming a contented, " _Mmhm…"_ as if that was all that needed to be said, because it was, but Peter continued. "… Asshole gets his powers from a ritual, or something. Wasn't born with them like Cindy. Like you."

Jessica blinked, looking down at him. "I- Was that a backwards compliment?"

Peter shook his head against her torso. "It's a fact. You're a _person_ , Jess, you all were. Not a science projects. You were born just like everyone else." He didn't even need to see the look on her face. Jessica felt him kiss her chest. "Twin-ESP goes both ways, 'member?"

She rapped at his head with her palm, smiling softly. "Show off."

He let out a contented groan. "Yep, that's me… So, like every supernatural horror movie'll tell you, rituals for power, for a deal, or _some_ stupid shit… _"_

"Bad news?" Jessica finished.

"Try a shitshow."

" _Shitshow,"_ she said dramatically. She felt silly. "Ah, I am _so_ not good at cursing."

"Just need practice, Stick with me and you'll learn something."

"Foregone conclusion-"

He laughed. It sounded better than before, more relieved, and he went on with more levity in his voice. Jessica felt better hearing it. "Rituals come with a price, apparently, and to the Asshole's- _Ezekiel's_ surprise-"

"No, no, Asshole is good. I'm putting my vote in for that."

His body jostled beneath her with a quiet chuckle. "Unanimous then. To Asshole's surprise, real life isn't as Hollywood with them. Got his powers from something, on a _rental._ It wanted them back _._ So he tells me that lives are at stake. How's a city full of every spider from the smallest to the most poisonous sound?" Jessica grimaced. "Yeah. Lives are at stake. His, _Cindy's_. Not even she could stop it. He needs _help_. Needs a…" he trailed off.

Jessica felt the word on the tip of his tongue like it was on hers. "A hero?"

"Try an idiot," Peter grunted with a small frown. Instead, she kissed him again. The frown went away. "So he gets one. Says he needs someone _familiar_ with our powers—Cindy never tried, neither did he—wasn't _dumb_ enough—but with _my_ track record…" he sighed. "Still, I figure it's the least I can do. Then there's a syringe in my neck.

Jessica hissed. "What?"

"Yeah. I wake up on this altar and then there's _thing_ —big, ten foot tall spider… _Man-_ thing," he said, and Jessica could see him grimace at the name. "And there _I_ am, stuck to an altar in this weird BDSM dungeon Batcave _ripoff_ that he keeps in the basement _beneath_ his fucking basement _,_ and this thing bites into me like a _fucking_ _hamburger_."

Jessica closed her eyes. "Are you _sure_ he's dead?"

He patted her head and actually laughed. "Down, Jess."

She huffed. "Well, at least you're looking good now," she said, to his, "Ditto.' "Just …What the fu-" she started, flatly. "No, let me rephrase that. _What_ type of life were you living without me, dear brother?"

Peter wrapped his arms around her midsection and she held onto them. "Good save," he said.

"Well someone has to set a good example for you. Not like _I_ have any money for a swear jar."

"Would you like an allowance?" he asked.

Jessica hummed. "…I think I'd prefer it if you spoiled me, brother."

He smiled. "I can do that," he said, and sighed. "In retrospect, it's been a pretty crappy one. " He rolled her against his lap slightly, and she rolled with him. "After that it's a blur. I go through this thing. A Gauntlet, or something. Quasimodo. Tarantula they're there. So that was… good, if you can call being on-call dicks for some kind of… spider-lady deity in the afterlife fine-" Jessica raised her hand. "Yeah?"

"Quick repeat question?"

"Go ahead."

" _What?"_

"Apparently my dead brothers lost their virginities before I did," he said, helpfully.

" _Our_ dead brothers lost their virginities before _we_ did. _After_ they died." Jessica rolled her eyes. "Guess we should have met up sooner. Or you should have spent more time with Kitty. Think we can get away with technical masturbation as an excuse?" she asked.

"I think Mexico is a better answer, honestly, but… Think I've been running too long, too," he said. "Anyway, the thing attacked me, changed to look like them, like me, and like _you_. And after getting eaten, I _really_ was not in the best mood."

"I can imagine. Maybe you just didn't get eaten the right way-" He looked at her. "Please, get your mind out of the gutter, brother."

"You're starting to sound like Cindy."

"I am _insulted._ Give me some credit. I managed to make a completion with you and take your virginity. _And_ sit on your face!"

"At least you have your priorities straight," he said, in no uncertain terms telling her what she should be doing. Jessica ground her ass into his crotch, feeling his hands roam up to her beestings in retaliation. She lolled her head back to his shoulder. "So, we fight. I see us, I see _me_ , but… older, a bunch of weird shit. Was actually where I got that suit idea from; that lasted about three seconds."

"I think I prefer the hood look," Jessica said, tugging at the blue of her hoodie. She looked into it, where her tits were pressing through the bodysuit, her nipples hard and waiting to be sucked and found, unsurprisingly, that she was alright with that. "We look good in hoods."

Peter smirked. "Half right," he said, looking at her. "I was seeing… red. When I started hitting, I didn't stop. Next thing I know it's dead, and I'm back in the Asshole's Batcave—like I said, no loopholes. The altar's broken into bits, spiders everywhere. Ezekiel's-"

"Asshole's," Jessica corrected, feeling the word on her tongue.

Peter smirked. "Asshole's cocooned in webbing with spiders swarming him and…" He grimaced. "And Cindy's right there, watching it all. The spiders carrying him away, me, like _this,"_ he gestured at himself."

Jessica's breath hitched. She heard the voice again, barely over her own. "Pete…, I am so, so sorry."

He shook his head. "You got no reason to be, Jess. But… _man,_ you should have seen the look on her face. And there I was thinking I took it bad when Uncle Ben… so yeah. So that wasn't fun. And it went from zero to shit real quick." he swallowed, trying to stay all casual. "…I'm not good at keeping friends, Jess. Seems like I'm pretty fucking good at losing them though."

"Well you're not going to lose me," she said, softly tilting his chin with her finger so she could look into his eyes again. "You _know_ that," she said, not asked.

"I got a hunch."

"Nope," Jessica corrected, putting her mouth to his. "You got _me_."

For a second they languished in that, a lazy kiss. She could feel his hands drop and she smiled into it, sucking his lip in and rolling her tongue over it, both of them just relaxing against each other. Then-

"Peter?"

Blinking, they turned around as one. Behind the couch was the girl, cumcrusted covers in tow. It took a second for Jessica to realize she still didn't know her name. Another to realize that they were caught all close-like and intimate, and neither caring. Another to bemusedly realize that being interrupted by telepaths was becoming a trend for Peter, something he already realized and started to groan about. He stopped when they both saw she was crying.

Standing there in her hospital gown, her hair sort of frazzled with bedhead and her steps unsteady, stumbling and bracing herself against the doorframe to the room, she had tears streaming down her cheeks.

They got up together, hesitantly, and Jessica knelt down in front of her. She wasn't that much shorter than Jessica herself, but Jessica didn't know what else to do, and gently touched the girl's shoulder. A crying girl wasn't something she knew how to handle, but a crying _telepathic_ girl was out of orbit to what she knew how to handle. Peter looked just as clueless when the girl still flung her arms around him so he had to be doing _something_ right. He looked at Jessica, but she shrugged, just as lost as him.

The girl started to sob into him,, wiping her face and tears into his hood. She wailed things in Spanish. Jessica wasn't anywhere near fluent enough to translate so quickly and only picked up things like hurt, pain, spider, champion, nightmare, and _Peter_. _Dos Peter._

Jessica blanched. "Maybe she's… If she's a telepath, could she, I don't know, form a connection or something?"

"In my experience telepaths can just pop into your head when they want," Peter grunted, bemusedly. "Last thing I need is for another one of them to get me on fucking speed dial. …Aaand it's probably already happened, hasn't it."

Jessica snickered. He glared at her and she started to laugh. "Maybe you _do_ have something written on your brain. In big neon letters."

"Don't joke about that. That's not funny."

The girl flung her arms around Peter's neck, her eyes shut tight, her sobs letting up, and Jessica wondered if she'd been crying in her sleep after Peter had been in a… not a happy place. "I think she was able to feel you just now? Like she's imprinted on you, or something."

Her twin looked uncomfortable with the thought and looked down at the girl, but she was fast asleep now, smiling and snoring softly into him. "What _are_ you, some kind of narcoleptic?" He groaned, and Jessica smiled as his look softened. "An empathic… narcoleptic… telepath. Do those even exist?"

"Either or," she said, "and I guess they do now. You just told me about a girl born with spider powers and telepathy _,_ and then there's Jean Grey. Weirder things have happened, right? Like us." He looked adorably uncomfortable with that too, and with how the girl was clinging to him. "She's like, connected to you. Emotionally."

Peter growled. " _Great_ …"

"Kind of hard to be jealous of her though," Jessica said softly. She brushed hair out of her face as she murmured in her sleep. It _was_ remarkably easy to fall asleep with Peter. Like a big, semi-habitually frowning bear. Or wolf-spider, for the nearest, relevant animal kingdom equivalent. "She's been through a lot, right? You both have."

"I haven't," Peter frowned. He leaned against the back of the couch and the girl moved with him, and Jessica rested her head on his shoulder. "I haven't been through anything _close_ to what she's been through."

Jessica smiled softly at his selflessness. "Just…" She sighed. "You saved her. She called you her champion. You're her hero, Peter. That's enough, isn't it?"

Peter looked even less uncomfortable with that and skeptical, disbelieving, "Don't feel like one," he muttered honestly. "Not enough for her to- _this. Imprint_ on me like a-" he grunted, but Jessica saw a small disbelieving smile tug at his lips. "Like a _dog._ We have a _dog,_ Jess."

She put her hands out. "Yes, we have a dog," she smiled, and gently rubbed the girl's hair like she was a puppy. It wasn't the Weirdest thing she'd done all day, but it made her feel good.

"Like a Mexican hairless," she and her twin said at the same time. She had an idea, and acted on it. Jessica bit her lip as she brushed up the girl's hospital gown. Perfect white panties, no doubt supplied by the hospital, were under there beneath her gown. She peeked into them. "Okay…" she said. "Mostly hairless."

Peter looked at her flatly. " _Really_?"

"It's not like she's opposed to it," Jessica said, defensively, again realizing that between the two of them, she was the pervert. "Dude, she's kind of holding your sperm-sheets."

"I was trying to forget about that."

"I have your best interests at heart," she said primly.

"Thank you _so_ much my perverted sister."

Snickering, Jessica saddled up to him. When she did the girl wrapped her arms around them both. She looked at the girl's outstretched arms, "You never even have to ask, brother. Btw, I think you're stuck with us."

"Another freeloader. Woo."

"You know, I think she'd probably be more than okay with the same forms of payment that I am-"

"- _Thank you_ , Jess."

"And you got the money for it..."

"And I'm not giving it back."

"Wasn't even a thought in my pretty little head."

Peter smirked easily. "Someone has a high opinion of themselves."

Jessica kissed him. "It's a contagious line of thinking. Wonder who I caught it from."

Peter snorted. He was thinking the same thing she was, Jessica knew. They'd have to buy her a toothbrush, some toys—whatever the telepathic kids liked nowadays. Something to distract her. The fidget spinner or whatever was a thing still, right? They'd need to name her too. Maybe the 'Mexican Grey'. Like the Mexican hairless, except telepathic. And prone to interrupting. "You think you can get her name?"

Peter tapped the girl's head. Jessica rightly figured the girl was talking to him telepathically because he rolled his eyes a second later. "Her name is… Aracely. She… says she likes puppies. And she wants to stay with us. …Pretty please."

Jessica nuzzled against him. "Well? _Pretty please_?"

He sighed. Jessica's giggles turned into a cheer as Peter brought the cover over them all. "G'night Jess," he said.

"G'night, Pete."


	14. Backwardly Therapeutic Part 2

**Chapter 14**

 **Backwardly Therapeutic Part 2**

* * *

"Hey, can you hear me?"

Jessica grumbled in her sleep.

"Grumble twice for yes, once for no."

In her dream there was Frankenstein, Peter dressed as him, anyway, and then there was her, dressed as the girl Frankenstein. The B word one, his bride with the shock white and black hair. There was a specific reason she was groaning and she ended up groaning twice. Once to wake herself up, and again because she was awake. "Mmn… ungh."

"Oh, thank _god_. I don't think I could stand talking to someone who wasn't listening or a brick wall. You're both actually kind of both. But good girl - not completely drugged up on tantric energy, huh?"

Tantric energy? What? "No… _Yougoawaynow?"_ Jessica managed feebly, bonelessly waving her hand without opening her eyes. She felt warm, and then felt breasts that were certainly not her own brush against her hand, arm and elbow, but that wasn't about to wake her up if she had her way.

"Guess you don't. Sorry, little Ms. Tuffet. I'm here to stay. Well, at least until I get bored of you or fall asleep. Keep it up with the free shows like yesterday though and that'll never happen."

Jessica tried to make an inelegant noise. Not really a growl, but more than just a snarl. It came out as a whine. "Please?"

"I'm going to count to three before I start blaring _Good Morning America_ over this thing. Regis and Kathie Lee in 3… _2…"_

"Alright! I'm up, I'm… up…" Jessica bolted up out of bed, positive she couldn't handle the styled talents of those two so early in the morning. Her eyes were wide, but looking around the room all she could see wasn't the same mess she remembered. She was in bed, and looked down to find her chest being used as a pillow by a literal TMNT. And a drool sponge. Wasn't that… cute.

There was a note on the night stand that she was too tired to reach out and read, and the bag full of money Peter had appropriated from bad people was open on the floor. The weblines that glued it to the ceiling dangling from there and what clothes he had in his own bag had been rifled through. The clock said it was 7 in the morning and Jessica's brain said she actually did feel a little drugged up. Like she had her soul pounded out of her, pounded back _in_ , had cum from the novelty of it, and now was where she was supposed to be languishing in the afterglow and holding her sore pussy. With every fiber of her being she sarcastically wondered why and a satisfied, tired smile screwed onto her face.

Aracely didn't notice her jumping out of bed. She was a scrunched up ball of sleep-until-the-world-endedness against her, using Peter's cum-sheet as a blankey. In between drooling like a river and nuzzling against her, Jessica thought she looked… cute wasn't the right word, but definitely not bad for a telepath.

"They're so _cute_ when they're young, aren't they?" someone sighed wistfully. "Then they grow up into Jean Greys or voyeurs. Or both. Yeesh. You keep an eye on her, girl."

She tensed, rubbed her eyes. That wasn't Peter's voice she was hearing. "What the-"

"Peter isn't here. I am. Hi." Jessica got the distinct impression someone was holding their hand out for her to shake.

Jessica narrowed her eyes and out of bed carefully, deciding that being extra careful while simultaneously experiencing a potential lapse into insanity was the smart move, since there was _talking_ but no one around. Her lapse _in_ sanity had been the day before, so it only stood to reason the lack of it came afterward.

She looked at Aracely just to make sure she wasn't being punk'd, maybe that was something telepaths did, you never know, but the Mexican Grey was not-cutely drooling like a telepathic oxymoronic river. And then there was the voice. "Well, far be it from me to not let someone else take the fall for my actions, but…" it trailed off.

"Okay, voice in my head- possibly insanity, _possibly_ a telepath-"

"Where would the fun be in telling you?" the voice said. It sounded like a girl's, if voices in your head sounded like anything. They apparently did. "Hey, I sound like a _cute_ girl, not just any girl. I _am_ cute. I wear size six shoes and a size three cup and I can count to eleventy-twelve."

Jessica stood up. Her legs felt like jelly and she felt loose, but good loose. Footloose and tingly like her digits were still soaked in Peter's sticky stuff. "Color me jealous," she said, looking around from her feet to her hands to the walls just to make sure the world wasn't falling apart around her and black slime wasn't bleeding from the ceiling. It wasn't, not yet. So that was good. "Uh… Size three?"

"C-Cup. A, B, C and a half."

' _Oh, great. The disembodied voice in my head has bigger breasts than I do,'_ she thought, and started to laugh.

"Yeah she does," the voice said, smug sounding. Jessica stopped laughing.

"Okay, so you can hear my thoughts. A little baseline for the voice in my head- I was hoping for some _originality,_ maybe the ability to grant wishes, but you know, no one's perfect," Jessica rambled, but she definitely wasn't panicking. Definitely not, no matter how valid a thing it was to do. "But, and I don't know what you've heard from movies I've watched, I am _not_ going to kill for you, capiche?"

"Not even if I ask really nicely?"

"No."

"Really, really nicely?"

"Are you kidding me?" Her voice felt hoarse. "Voice in my head that woke me up with a threat says what?"

"It was _Good Morning America_!" the voice laughed. Jessica saw a girl in her mind's eye and then wondered if she should see a therapist. _"Not_ the best threat I can come up with."

"Tell me about it. Regis and Kathie Lee aren't even on Good Morning America, so you're obviously not _my_ voice in my head…" She paused, then rubbed her temples. "Oh, that's not a good implication..." She was having a conversation with a telepath, and she didn't have to think long about who it was. "Really, you couldn't threaten me with _Burns and Allen_?"

"Who?"

Jessica groaned. "I don't even know you, but I hate you already."

"Aw, we both know that's not true. And hey, you haven't tried for those wishes yet!"

Jessica gave a strained smile. "I'm wishing for you to get the heck out of my head right now, aren't you listening?"

"Ooh, no can do, Hermana-Arana. But, I do listen, and I have heard a couple of things. A few things. Okay, _everything_ ," the voice gushed. "Yesterday was so _sweet_ , really. I was getting diabetes over here. Cried and everything. Bleh."

"Someone sounds jealous…" Jessica said, scanning the room. "Where _is_ 'over here', exactly? Walmart? Disneyland? Ninth Circle of Hell? Chicago?"

"Ouch, some salt for all my Cubs out there."

"You've obviously never been to Chicago," Jessica muttered. She shambled out of the room, anchoring herself onto the wall when her legs gave way. She tried to listen to her spider-sense but there was a sort of… hum. Focusing on the sensation of any danger-sense in her skull was difficult when her ears were vibrating like someone was making ASMR right into them. The hair on her arms stood up and Jessica considered the possibility she was actually going insane again.

"No, but I have been to New York City," the girl's voice in her head chirped, helpfully. "And don't worry, you're not going insane. At least not even more insane. Sex on the ceiling I can get- well, I _want_ to get it… But sucking fat dick in front of a crowd? While wrapped in a full-butt condom? Spectacular spinnerets Spider-Girl, you have an even bigger webhole than _I_ do! And… after yesterday, I'm not really surprised."

Jessica went red in the face. Any other time she would have considered the continued existence of her propriety to be a good thing, but when it was a result of a voice in her head knowing what she'd done the day before, she wasn't so glad for it. She decided to distract herself; outside the bedroom Peter was nowhere to be found. She went to the kitchen and snagged a cold piece of pizza for herself. The top most suite in a 4-star hotel and they didn't even include a microwave. Ridiculous. Even Motel 6's had microwaves.

"Bet you've been to Massachusetts, right?" Jessica said aloud, mouth full of food.

"Mmmaybe," the voice chirped.

"Alright, Clara Barton, I'm going to need you to take about a few dozen miles worth of steps back. Like, go to Canada for a bit and get out of my head, 'kay?"

The voice laughed, causing a weird sensation in Jessica's head, but no capital W. Just odd and uncomfortable. Maybe this was what the beginning stages of demonic possession felt like. "I was hoping you could add me on Facebook, Spider-Girl."

"It's Spider- _Woman_ …" Jessica muttered. She finished her pizza and walked back to peek in the bedroom. Aracely was twitching in her sleep, mumbling something about Mictlan. Mickland? Mickeyland? Maybe she wanted to go to Disneyland. Jessica wasn't about to judge. "If you're in my head you would know how I feel about voices that don't belong to me rolling around in there. _And_ Facebook," she said, softly closing the door behind her.

"Oh, I'm getting Déjà vu," the voice replied. "Me, a webhead, and a conversation about the woes of being able to read a webhead's mind, and the fact that it's current year and they still don't have a social media account."

Jessica groaned. Maybe demonic possession was preferable to talking to her twin's ex. She wondered where was Peter so he could tag in. "Cindy, right?"

"Oh, S. Jessica Parker, star of ' _Sex in the City with My Brother_ ', has heard of me? I'm flattered. _Jessica, Cindy Moon, star of… masturbating to your brother_. _Cindy Moon, Aracely, ardent cum-rag-sniffer. Aracely_ , Cindy Moon. Cindy Moon, Jessica. Cindy."

Jessica waited until she was finished and stood, unimpressed. Cindy let out a pleased sounding chuckle and in the room Jessica heard Aracely mutter, _"Hola."_

 _"Ooh,_ I missed this. You have any idea how annoying it is trying to hold a conversation with someone who won't talk back?"

"About as annoying it is talking with the voice inside your head I'd guess?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far. I am a pretty good conversationalist."

"Apparently not," Jessica remarked, and her voice turned cold. "What do you want?"

Cindy purred. "Oh Jess, I want a _lot_ of things. Right now though, I'd _really_ like to stop getting my calls to your brother screened and rejected. So if you could, I dunno, put a good word in for your other neighborhood Spider-Gal, that'd be great."

Jessica crossed her arms. "Good luck with that. Let me know how that works out for you. Or don't."

"Now, wait just a second before we get all uber-bitchy with each other and get into a catfight over our favorite webheaded onii-chan," Cindy said, taking a calming breath. "Also, bite into him for shaving his head for- alright, maybe _bite_ wasn't the right word…"

"Given your history, I doubt it," Jessica snipped.

"I deserved that… I just want to say I'm a fan of yours. Big fan."

"That's _so_ nice. Always great to hear that you have a telepathic stalker looking into your every action without you knowing. At any given hour of the day."

"Blame your brother. Him and telepaths are like honey and bees. Your little TMNT over there is number three and counting. Between you and me, I think he _does_ have something written on his brain," Cindy whispered conspiratorially, and Jessica felt a full body tremor rock through her, setting every hair from peach fuzz to the hair on her arms on edge. "And, don't know if you've heard, but not all telepaths are voyeuristic perverts."

"Just most, apparently," Jessica muttered.

"Pot to kettle, your bottom is huge, but I guess the spider went to Lil' Miss Tuffet for a reason."

"It's _Muffet._ "

"It's _Tuffet,_ like tough, and tushy- shut up. I know what I said. I was trying to compliment you, _"_ Cindy said. "But fine, be that way. And really, I haven't been looking at you… much. To be honest, you give me a _headache."_

"Commonality is always a good thing, isn't it."

Cindy ignored the barb. "But I _have_ been looking at Peter, and what you did- what you do for him. The nightmares, they… he wouldn't let me help, so… I also wanted to say- thanks?"

"Is that a question?" Jessica shook her head, sighed. "I don't want your thanks. I don't need it. And after what you did, you want _my_ help- what makes you think I'd help you?"

"Because I'm asking really nicely?"

Jessica didn't say anything. There was a pause before Cindy took a deep breath. "What I did- I _said_ I was sorry," she said quickly. "And I said it _so_ many times- he just… we're on a break. A Ross and Rachel type deal, is all. We're already making up! He talked to me last night, you know. After… fucking you." Her voice bounced back. "Thanks for keeping his dick wet n' kept for me, galpal."

"A break. Right," Jessica nodded, rolling her eyes. "You know, sorry doesn't change anything."

"Me and him both know that, Jessie. We'd be different people if it did. You would know too, wouldn't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know _exactly_ what it means. Jess, you had the chance to _stay_ with him. Head all this off at the pass... But you come out of the woodwork when his entire world had come crashing down and his life was falling apart, and _then_ you skip town? Little Ms. Tuffet if _you_ start judging me, I might just laugh. Or puke."

Jessica looked at the ground and Cindy let out a quiet, smug laugh. "Far as I'm concerned, the only difference between us is you got the chance to make it up to him. And your ass is a _little_ bigger than mine."

Jessica was quiet for a few seconds. "You done?"

"I think so… Whew, thanks for letting me get that out."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, you're right. I did. But you forget a couple of things, Your Highness."

Cindy hummed. "And what are those?"

"That I'm _not_ a telepath, for one. And whatever happened between you two, that was _you_ , not me. That I'm not the one who drove him out, who got him drinking _._ And _I'm_ not the one begging to be let back in. Keep that in mind."

When Cindy next spoke her voice was low, almost dangerous. Jessica felt her skin tingle. " _Ooh,_ that stings. Fine, let's be that way. What happened, happened. I'm not angry anymore, I'm _not,_ but he killed Ezekiel and I _was_ angry and- _let's call a spade a spade,_ ' _kay_?"

"The way I hear it, Ezekiel got what he deserved." Cindy didn't answer. "Nice to meet you, Cindy," Jessica said with a sigh.

No more voices in her head after that. She started to make a mental draft of her letter to Penthouse forum, or a therapist if she ever wanted a good laugh. How she'd slept with her twin brother, woke up in bed with the sole survivor of a human-trafficking ring. A girl as young as her, if not slightly younger, that can read she also had memories of having a penis and made her country wide debut performing oral sex on said twin-brother just yesterday, and how they were both orphaned runaways who can say with certainty that there was a girl's voice in their heads trying to talk to them. _'Dear Penthouse, I eagerly await your thoughts.'_

Because that'd go over well. A therapist would have a friggin' _field day_ with that.

* * *

When Peter came back she was munching on the rest of her pizza on the couch. Wherever he'd been – she hoped it wasn't a bar – she'd felt him coming through the Weird sensation in her skull and couldn't help but wonder if Cindy could too, but wasn't about to ask.

She was fresh out of the shower, her hair dripping onto a towel she had laid down. The TV was on, and fortunately the news outlets hadn't really gone into exact detail about the day before. Instead, they were talking about the old woman who'd gotten saved from a car wreck by a half-naked young man who fell out of the sky, according to witnesses. Wondering just who it could have been, Jessica also wondered if doing a story on public sex and fire-wielding maniacs getting the crap beat out of them in a city known for only one of those things was a hard topic to broach.

The double doors to the suite opened and Peter came in. Jessica stretched languidly over the arm of the couch and waved at him so she was the first thing he saw.

"Hey, Early-Riser," she said, with only a modicum of awkwardness that, when they looked at each other, went up in smoke. She showed him teeth, and he showed her what it looked like when he smiled. "Was worried you skipped out on me and left me with the bill for this place."

Peter snorted. He looked different. Better. He was standing straighter, and his eyes looked bright. Cindy's words floated around in her head as he set some of the bags down, and Jessica was a little proud to say that maybe she'd been right, but then that'd be super-double narcissism on her part.

"Maybe if you weren't broke I would," he smirked. "You're lucky, I guess. When did you get up?"

She shrugged off the question. "I think the more important question is why you left and didn't wake me up. And also why your ex was able to phone me telepathically. The ex who can squirt webbing from her fingers, not the estranged one who can walk through walls."

She watched him frown. She definitely found the lack of boundaries (if there were any when it came to them, which she doubted) more amusing than he did. "Well, shit."

Jessica rubbed the back of her neck. "It's… fine. I guess. We talked. She doesn't like me very much, I think. Or… maybe she does? Eh."

"What did she want?"

She pursed her lips. "Nothing important," she said, a little too forcefully. "You get any sleep?" She asked, looking at him carefully. "Any nightmares?"

Peter groaned, palming his face. "No, Doc. None to speak of," he said, and Jessica was faced with the mental image of him on a therapist's couch and her on top of him, for some reason. "I slept and when I woke up I stopped someone from getting mugged at knifepoint."

"That's a weird order of events," she said, getting up and going over to hug him firmly. He glared at her, and she hugged him tighter and smiled when he awkwardly did the same. "Did you at least princess-carry me? You could have. Or invited me along. It wasn't my bedtime yet, brother."

"Princess carry you? With your ass?" Peter scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself. I had to sling you over my shoulder."

"Big dork."

"Big butt." He walked into the kitchen after she pulled away. Jessica followed him. She smelled food and now he was never going to get rid of her.

She was dressed in in an old shirt of his and a pair of his boxers. When he noticed – and she noticed he noticed – he stared blandly for a second before looking away, and then spied Aracely shambling out of the bedroom toward them – wasn't that a Weird thing to say.

She was wrapped in covers and dragging them behind her. Peter made a noise and rolled his eyes. "Huh _."_

" _Unh… Silencioso,"_ Aracely groaned. Between the two of them, they were close, and so she tucked her face between them both and tried to live there. _"Tener compassion… El mundo me lastima los oídos…"_

"Oh. Sleeping beauty is awake _,"_ Jessica smiled softly. "I just washed up so can you move before you start drooling on me again?" she asked, and Aracely shook her head the tiniest bit, trying to burrow deeper into them, coincidentally, using Jessica's meager breasts and Peter's bicep as a pillow. Jessica gave her twin a look. "Little help here?"

"Drooled on you too, huh?" he smirked, and inspected the situation in a way Jessica supposed a detective might. He reached into one of the bags, pulled out a burger, dangled it in front of Aracely's face. "Hey, Ms. Van Winkle. Hungry?"

" _D_ _esayuno?"_ The telepath's eyes snapped open as if she'd never been asleep. She smiled like the sun and nodded emphatically.

Peter looked at the covers on her and grimaced. "Then take that shit off. Please." She did, more eagerly than he expected. Jessica's eyebrows went up - Aracely wasn't wearing a shirt. Peter looked blandly at her and she held off the rest of that question. "Never mind. Put it back on. Now."

Aracely swiped the burger from his hand and bit into it, and then tried to hug them both at the same time, half naked, holding the food with her mouth, and so Jessica got the impression she was talking to the both of them as she took a seat. It was... technically accurate, and one way to avoid confusion. " _Mmnf… Es tan Bueno! Gracias, Peters!"_

Jessica made a bid for a burger herself and pouted when Peter smacked her hand away. He pulled a toothbrush out of another bag, and some toothpaste. He set them in her open hand. "I got you a toothbrush."

Jessica noted he'd gotten _three._ Dark red and black, light blue and white, and light green and white. Her smile widened. Very domestic, much tingling in her tummy and elsewhere. "Yes, I can see that," she said, appraisingly, though looking pleased with herself. "Why?"

Peter ignored the suggestion in her voice, or whatever it was that was suggesting she wanted to hear him say what she already knew. And she didn't even know what it was, but it felt good. "Because you – _both_ of you-" he said, staring pointedly at Aracely –who opened her mouth to happily say something emphatic in Spanish and he closed it almost immediately – "Have bad bed breath."

"Oh," Jessica blinked, and not-quite-stealthily tried smelling her breath. It wasn't good. She shoved him in the chest and he barely moved an inch. Not knowing whether to look in mock offense at his muscled chest or her comparatively much-less-muscled arm, she snatched the stuff away. "Fair point, but way to ruin the mood, dork."

"Uh-huh. But if you try to kiss me and put your tongue down my throat again, I'd rather it not taste like old pizza and my jizz. Just a thought," he added with an almost straight face, though the slight tug at the corner of his mouth was contagious.

" _Besar tu garganta?_ " Aracely said in wonderment, and then chirped, opening her arms to hug him again. _"Peter! Déjame intentarlo!"_ she cheered, and he palmed her face back into her seat.

"Good point. It's the thought that counts!" Jessica said, walking off toward the bathroom. She could feel his eyes on her as she did and knew exactly why. His boxers hadn't been made in mind for her body.

"And those off, they're dirty," Peter called after her.

"Don't wanna," she said poutingly, peeking from behind the bathroom doorway. She popped her hip out too, plucking the elastic string of the boxers like a chord against her thigh like. It smacked and clung tight to her, dig into her meaty thigh and setting it to jiggling. "I guess I'm dirty now too though. Wanna help me get clean?"

What was left of her propriety said that a child was present, but she was as old as they were and more inclined to go digging through the bag of food like a curious puppy. She watched Peter's expression change , and knew he was feeling exactly what she was. That made a mad tingle run down her spine as they locked eyes. He'd been right, this _was_ great therapy, if... a little backwards. And incestuous.

As if his cock hadn't started to get hard just from seeing her cheeks swish and swallow the fabric of his boxers like mouthwash, or his semen in her mouth - his mind was starting to wander - he let out a breath. He took one look at Aracely who was looking at her new toothbrush in awe, wondering what secrets it held, and pat her on the head.

"Knock yourself out," he said. He walked to the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, and Jessica shook hers with a smile before he shutting the door behind him.

* * *

In the bathroom he put her new toothbrush against his chest – he'd brought his own. His dark red and black, hers light blue and white. Very red oni, blue oni. Jessica hummed in approval at that – it seemed to fit pretty well.

"Here," she said, already beginning to uncap the toothpaste. "I want to try something I saw in a show once."

When she motioned for him to hold out her toothbrush so she could load it up with paste, Jessica knew he had no idea where she'd gotten it from, but… she could feel he was having ideas about where they could take it, when she opened her mouth and said, " _Aaah_." Specifically, against her ass.

Jessica had him stand behind her and bared her teeth in front of the bathroom mirror. She pointed at her dentures and grinned, but he just sighed, a bit longsufferingly. "What the fuck- Jess is this another footjob thing? Because- _"_

"I can't give you a _footjob_ with my _teeth,"_ She laughed, doubting anything as Weird had ever been said between siblings. "Just do it. C'mon. It'll be fun."

It kind of wasn't.

The act was fine. It was actually relaxing, even. Peter massaging her gums with a toothbrush as easily as if it was his own mouth – and she supposed it was, in more ways than just the technical one. Her relaxing against his large form, his arms around her. All very lax. With one hand he massaged her scalp he was lulling her into an easy haze that crackled between them like the atmosphere of a relaxing bath as he brushed her teeth, shallow, gently going around in circles on her front teeth.

He plucked her mouth open when he was ready to go deeper, not asking her if she was ready. That made her gag, but not complain. He was careless about her tongue being in the way or if he was going too deep, and when he did, which was often, she ground her ass against him to get him to stop, just as often.

It didn't work. But if there had been any question whether or not Pavlov's experiments had any bearing on spider-powered teens, they'd proven it. The more Jessica ground her thick cushioning against him, the deeper Peter went, and more and more erratically. He was giving her a good, thorough dental exam; but by the time he was scraping her tonsils and uvula and forcing off-tasting toothpaste down her gullet, making her retch and gag and spasm against him, barely giving her a chance to appreciate the sensation of _not_ retching and gagging like his cock was in her throat, he was also ready to be her own personal proctologist.

The fat tube of fuckflesh between his legs had matched her motions semi-perfectly to slip and slide up and down the valley of her butt and she felt steady, sticky wetness – whether it was her own, tears coming from her eyes or her pussy, or precum streaming from his cock, she hadn't known, though now, technically, his precum was all hers.

What she did know was that she was working him up to a fat nut, right between her cheeks, and his boxers would never be the same. No doubt he'd flung man-goo into them before, just not from the outside and back… and Jessica fought the urge to bend over for him and give him a target to paint.

Instead, in between panting as his hands groped searchingly at her beestings and roved down her stomach to ground her twat into dust while she tried to do the same to his shaft, Jessica asked for some water to rinse her mouth out with.

"Water?" came out as, "Waahhurr- _urk!,"_ since the toothbrush was still in her throat. Peter, apparently, had made her leak even the requisite amount braincells it took to know that trying to speak with an obstructed windpipe wasn't a good idea, out of her pussy. Those same braincells were now girl-goo cooling in his boxers while she felt his man-goo drooling through the same boxers and into the crack of her ass.

He pulled the brush out gingerly - gingerly for him. After she was through gagging and suppressing the urge to spill last night's dinner of cheese pizza and nutcream all into the face bowl because of that, Jessica angrily bashed his pelvis with her ass. Judging by the groan he let out it wasn't much of a punishment, but judging by the panting and red-in-the-face smile covered in goopy white stuff she had in the mirror, it wasn't supposed to be.

"That's…" she rasped, her throat sounding raw and feeling it too, "Oh man, that's… that stuff tastes awful. Is-Is that spearmint?" She spit into the bowl.

Peter growled out a breath, pushing her against the sink from his grinding alone. He didn't mean to, Jessica could tell as much because he was also trying to grip her as close to him as possible, definitely making her make good on her promise of intercrural sex. But the fact was, while his cock wanted to use her junk-in-the-trunk as an impromptu pussy, the boxers were in the way, and his hand wanted a warm place to stay between her legs. She had a feeling that he was trying to pound her pussy through her cheeks with his hand as a compass, and that was just fine by her, so long as he kept… _moving._

If he wanted to hump away at her butt in the morning… She groaned herself, biting into her lip and bending at the waist to rest her head and arms on the sink, and Peter grabbed her by the hips, grinding away at her fat ass with the ease someone might have reading the morning paper. If he wanted to grind his cock against her ass in the morning to get off, to get them both off, then that was just fine by her. They had a new family tradition.

"Yeah," he finally answered, a couple of minutes later. Jessica had forgotten the question, and wasn't sure whether to be flattered or impressed he'd lost himself in playing slip the sausage with her buns, and so decided on focusing on how wet she'd gotten, how much her cunt was drooling in his boxers, what the hell _that_ meant, and all of the filthy, perverted insinuations therein.

"Spearmint," he said in a conversational tone, as if he could feel her thoughts. The thought, that closeness… it made her groan too. If Cindy was watching, Jessica hoped she was paying attention.

"Didn't have anything else," was all he said, even while his cock was saying, to her and her asshole, that should be much, much closer than they already were and Jessica squirmed, drooling out the suds from the paste and the rubbed-down froth from her pussy.

"I hate spearmint…"

"I know," Peter laughed into her ear, nipping it, and then raking his teeth down her neck, and her body shook.

"Hey," she muttered, and tapped him twice with a twist of her hips. His thick prick didn't so much bounce between her cheeks as it did get spread by them, but it got his attention. "Ugh… gimme some water. I'm dying over here."

Peter made a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh, even while he busied himself with licking her, as if her ass wasn't enough. "Wow, lazy _and_ entitled. Kind of embarrassed for you," he remarked.

With more agility than a normal person would have had (a normal girl like, say, Kitty Pryde or Cindy Moon, even, because normal girls didn't fuck their brothers wherever they got the chance) feeling his fuckstick eclipse her ass and drool at the small of their back, Jessica hooked her feet behind his legs and humped away at him, definitively and without a doubt showing him what-for... instead of just being more proactive in lending him her fat asscheeks for him to fuck.

"Shut up. Give water," she replied. "Trying to pay my way here, dork."

"Oh, I'll give you something," he growled into her ear.

Jessica bit her lip and chewed it to keep from outright asking for it. Instead, she tapped him a couple of times. "Just water, please," she said hoarsely, giving a smug and hazy look. In response, he sheathed himself between her cushions and pumped his hips hard; she stood on her toes to avoid the non-penetrative fuck. It didn't work and her cheeks ended up clapping against the hard muscle of his pelvis, but he got the message. She sure showed him.

Chuckling like he knew what she was thinking, Peter ran some water into his cupped hand and fed it to her. Along with what juices that sopped from her pussy through his boxers and into his hand, it wasn't just water, but Jessica accepted it all, swishing it in her mouth, and spit out before they did it all over again. She felt small in his arms, smaller still with his cock coming to a hot, throbbing rest against up between her asscheeks, but nothing felt smaller than her backdoor as it felt his shaft pulsating against it through the stretched-and-humped-thin boxers. The sensation made her try to push him away with her hips – or get him closer – and for some reason, her pussy was a fan of that idea.

She tried to pull away as another idea, but with her front mashed up against the porcelain of the sink and her twin mashed up against her back, and her arms not trying as hard as they should have to get some space between the two of them, Jessica just ended up turning and opening her mouth wide for him.

 _"Aaah,"_ she said again, showing off her pink tongue and white teeth. "How's it look? Clean?" Peter nodded, so she stuck her tongue out again felt herself cum a little when he licked it with his without a second thought. One of their tongues went into the other's mouth, licking the inside of it from the cheeks to the teeth and gums and she wasn't sure who. Technically, the blame lay on both sides.

They pulled away, a stream of spit between them that she eagerly lapped up before realizing she had, and she tasted more of his saliva than her own, and licked her lips. "Good," she chirped, feeling chipper with her eyes half-lidded. "Now make it dirty again."

Peter was on the same page as her, she could feel it, but was still a little confused when he stopped her as she began to separate from him and drop to her knees so he could let her fuck her face with his dick, or fuck his dick with her face.

"Would rather you finish what you started," he grunted, and he twisted her so that her right leg mounted the sink while her left was on its toes, and her fat ass was in the air for him.

Jessica would hazily remember blinking stupidly as he gave her a choice of whether or not she wanted to keep the boxers on while he stuffed her or not, but it wasn't really much of a choice. She also remembered pulling them down and spreading her cheeks to him, her head all but in the bathroom sink, hoping it could support her weight.

Instead, he'd pulled them up tight, choking her pussy with the fabric and giving her a wedgie hard enough to make her go cock-eyed. He pressed his finger to the crotch of the boxers and ripped down like he was pulling off a bandaid, making just enough space for her drooling, puffy pussy to poke through and Jessica gasped, feeling the shock of the cool air of the bathroom coast against the hot, swollen, trapped lips of her cunt.

"…Oh," she muttered, getting his point as he lined up the shot to her corner pocket before letting out a much louder, and a lot less collected noise of, "Oh _f-f-funngh… uck!"_ as he pushed inside, stretching her wide enough for her to hear it between her ears and her eyes to flutter into her skull. Despite her twat drooling it felt like he'd rubbed her raw and dry, but that wasn't enough to stop either of them.

"W-We're… gonna need to… _nnghm,_ shower again!" She said, almost trying to dissuade him. Peter worked it into her slow, so she could feel every inch, and feel just how uncomfortably comfortable it was to have her toes ache and her feet arch while she was trying to spear herself on his cock faster. Her lips stretched wide as his crown scooped her out good just at her entrance, and she could feel the breath in her lungs get _punched_ out of her as he let her drop just a bit more... only to lose the rest of her breath as he held her off with a single, strong hand.

Even if he did take the liberty of palming her ass like he was testing squishy fruit at the market, she took a moment to glare at him. "This _was_ your idea, Jess," he said, smirking at her, and the next thing she knew she was being carried, legs hooked over his arms, into the shower.

She heard herself choke out a moan of, _"It's so… fuck…nnngh… Good…"_ as she watched the interior of it get closer and closer with a sort of fascination that she currently lacked the mental faculties to appreciate, but knew that, at the very least, it was where she'd lost her virginity. And that was sweet, she thought, but the last thing she was able to fully register saying, or thinking, before she felt the wind get blown out of her as he hilted himself balls deep inside of her, and her face get mashed to the shower wall was, ' _Houston is pretty great.'_

* * *

It was strange. On the one hand, you'd think swallowing toothpaste would taste awful – and it did, Jessica thought as she spit some foam out of her mouth – but on the other hand... sometimes it was all about context.

She knew she would never have toothpaste with oranges, or, that is, oranges after toothpaste, because surfactants made everything taste bad and toothpaste just kind of sucked. But so did she, and being on her knees in front of her twin with a foamed up mess of spit and water in her mouth, drooling down the sides of her face, seemed to be _just_ the amount of context she needed to tolerate it.

The shower rained down on her but she could only look up, seeing Peter stand over her as she rolled one of his fat nuts in her mouth. Toothpaste made things taste extremely bitter, but it wasn't like it could make her brother's nut blasting off in her mouth any more bitter than it already was, right? She thought so.

And she thought wrong. She could _taste_ it through his sack, smell it even, and it was even more bitter than she remembered. Strong, and minty and… chunky. She burped and tasted spearmint.

Another thing that was probably strange was that the almost-first thing in the morning she did was to get on her knees and suck Peter's cock in the bathroom in place of her morning ablutions. Granted, they were showering, and she supposed there were probably points to be had for not sucking him off before brushing her teeth, but the fact was her breakfast was going to be his cum. If there were points to gain or lose for sucking him off _while_ brushing her teeth, that was actually Peter's idea, so... technically it was still on her.

And she'd still get them for going along with it anyway, because it wasn't like she'd made a choice that wasn't overwhelmingly positive and didn't involve opening fishhooking her mouth and saying " _Aah!"_ for the tenth time for him. She'd just wanted to do something she'd seen in an anime once, and this is what she got. Not the worst thing to learn from TV.

As she felt her twin's fat dick dive past her tonsils, bulldozing down her throat, her eyes rolled into her head. She retched but let him spear her throat just so he could give her a fat, gooey breakfast, straight from his nuts. Her tongue lolled weakly against his balls and she could taste her own pussy on them as well as her tongue before she'd ever taste his jizz, and wondered if that counted as breakfast too. At least she wouldn't be hungry.

Peter's balls tightened and Jessica fondled them, cooing and gurgling on his throat-sheathed prick even if it meant choking herself on it. One pulse, two, three... touchdown. It spat into her belly with all the force of a punch, causing her to hiccup and sway. Multitudes of viscous nut torpedoing straight into her tummy while she ground her face into his crotch and ground her hand into hers.

Her other hand came up to make sure nothing ran down the drain and It occurred to her that _Cindy_ was probably watching, or what it was that let her see them, and while that wasn't what set Jessica to cum from nothing but the feel of Peter in her throat, maybe that's why she ended up cumming a fourth time. Maybe.

There were worse things than being an exhibitionist. Like being an incestuous, quasi-narcissistic one. But at least being _full_ wasn't one of those things.

* * *

The door to the bathroom opened and they walked out together. Jessica steadied herself on his shoulders - he made a good handrail.

Looking to the kitchen, Peter made a discomfited noise. "Well... fuck."

"Whuh…?" Jessica slurred, intelligently. He pointed, though had to help her turn her head since she couldn't do as much as keep the majority of her saliva in her mouth. Jessica looked, and then started to snicker just as intelligently. Her drool spilled everywhere.

Peter's sheets to her face, Aracely had her hand in her panties. She looked at the both of them and, just as stupidly as Jessica, started to giggle. _"Estabas ruidoso._ " Her eyelids fluttered, and Jessica watched her spread her legs, and cum.

* * *

 _A/N: Retroactively I'm at most half sorry for any extended breaks. And bad spanish. Writing wise when you got the urge you got it, when you don't you don't._

 _Really surprised with how this story's blown up traffic wise. Thanks guys. Here's this c_ _lonecest dictionary thing._

 _Dork: Slang for dick._

 _Peter: Richard. Also a dick._

 _Big Butt: A big ass._

 _Aracely: Hecking cute._


	15. Backwardly Therapeutic Part 3

**Only in Houston**

 **Chapter 15**

* * *

 _Seven Months ago._

After she had been released from the hospital, May had been driven home by two women, one older, and one younger. The older, May would have recognized even if she wasn't famous – Sue Storm, of the Fantastic Four. Pretty, blonde, and if Peter's entranced raving about her had been any indication, very, very smart.

Of course she would have known that her nephew was Spider-Man before May herself, did. And of course the girl in the car with her, a cute one around Peter's age with a star of David necklace around her neck, was Peter's girlfriend. Not Mary Jane, but Katherine Pryde. She looked at May as though she should know who she was, not because Peter had ever told her he'd found someone else after breaking up with Mary Jane, but because she was famous too. Or infamous. She was a mutant.

Katherine, she asked May to call her Kitty, like everyone else, pulled up a video on her phone as Sue drove them to her home. May watched the city pass by out the window, only slightly paying attention. A woman renowned for her intellect as well as her supernatural abilities, who knew her nephew, was driving her home… and she was talking to her nephew's mutant girlfriend who she hadn't known existed. She couldn't find it in her to get mad about that, considering her reaction to the last secret he'd told her about.

The video Kitty pulled up was about Spider-Man – of course it was – and the X-Men. The 'mutant terrorists'. They were in a jungle, they were being hunted, and they – Peter and Kitty – were together. If she needed any proof that anyone was her nephew's girlfriend, seeing the two of them kiss in between running for their lives from maniacs was a good start.

If Ben were still alive, May was sure he would've made an off color joke about his brother's son being the star of a slasher film – because there was a maniac with swords trying to kill him, their sweet, smart boy that had never hurt a fly. All to calm himself down, of course, because even though Peter was trapezing around in red and blue spandex on a school day, that was his nephew, and he was in danger. He needed some kind of way to vent that kind of shock. Joking.

After a night of having the dead come to her front door, a man who should have stayed dead and a girl who hadn't deserved to die, May's method of coping had been different. Peter told her, with his wide, soulful, hazel eyes, "Aunt May, I-I'm Spider-Man," as he looked down at her from the ceiling, and poor, dead Gwen Stacey looked at the both of them.

May disowned him for that. Her nephew. Her baby boy.

And then his father had come along. Richard Parker, the man who was supposed to be dead, but wasn't. Like Gwen was supposed to be dead because May and Peter had attended her funeral, had buried her next to her father. May and Ben had done the same for Richard and Mary, but there he was. After everything, there he was.

Maybe, in the heat of the moment, she had figured he could take care of Peter? Peter didn't need her. No more secrets, no more danger, no more _lying._ He could have his family, his blood, and May could be left with the ghosts he brought to her life.

Susan Storm told her that hadn't even been Richard. That the man had been a clone. She hadn't said of who, and didn't even need to explain that yes, clones did exist now, in a world with Nordic gods and teen boys who risked their lives for a city who hated them. For a woman who hated him.

Peter had been the spitting image of his father, and May had thought it odd that after coming back from the dead, now it was Richard that looked like Peter. And the way she had spoken to him, to them both… What an awful, awful woman she was…

"Mrs. Parker?" Sue Storm's soft voice just barely rose over the low hum of her car as it came to a stop. Hearing it, May looked at the ring on her finger before anything else. Ben would be so… disappointed in her. "We're here."

May Parker was home. It wasn't the homecoming she expected.

The house was in tip-top condition. She remembered being carried bodily out of it, chest in pain, body seizing and electric as though she'd stepped on a live wire. Peter had been screaming and there had been so many lights, so much noise… She remembered waking up later, in the hospital the next day with Anna and Mary Jane Watson at her bedside. Peter hadn't been there. The next day came and went, and the day after that, and the one after that, and still, he wasn't there. They called, and called… and he wasn't there.

The lawn was in perfect condition – too perfect even, because in between work, and work and school and being a teenaged boy, neither she nor Peter ever had the time to make it look so good. The oil slick from the driveway was gone, the chipped paint that had come with the new property was gone. Ben would have called the house a fixer upper because it looked like it could use the ol' Parker elbow grease – it was why she had bought it, after Gwen died. Now it looked pristine. May didn't like it.

They walked inside quietly. The house was empty, as expected. Anna was at work, Mary Jane at school, and Peter… was still not there. While May was in the hospital, Anna looked after the house, but said she hadn't needed to. In between whatever he was doing that kept him from his recovering Aunt's side, Peter had done everything. He washed the clothes, did the dishes, swept and cleaned. The milk in the fridge had gone bad, but no one was perfect. And wherever he had gone, instead of seeing his sickly Aunt, he'd left some money on the kitchen table behind. Impersonal, like a tenant to his landlord just before moving out.

Anna hadn't moved that money. It was still in the kitchen. A few smoothed bills. Seeing it, May almost felt like having another heart attack. She decided to make tea, instead.

"Would you like some?" she asked the two girls, reaching to the top of the cabinets for her own personal stash that had moved from their last house to this one. Peter hated tea, and she hadn't drank any since the months after Ben had passed. "I think I should have… some Earl Grey left."

She pulled down an entire glass jar of the stuff. 'Some'.

Susan politely waved her hand, looking so much like Gwen had, except older, more mature and proper. Where Gwen had been a teen rebel, Susan was a newly minted college professor. "Mrs. Parker, you don't need to-"

"I do," May said. "I do. It's only polite- it's the least I can do." She looked at Kitty and smiled. "For the two of you, you took care of him, were there for him. _Please_."

Kitty and Sue looked at each other, and then took seats at the table. Kitty looked moderately uncomfortable with the seat she'd chosen, and May allowed herself to smile. Of course Peter would choose a nice girl like her, and of course a girl should be uneasy with meeting her boyfriend's… aunt. Not his mother, but the closest thing he had to one, even if she had cast him away like so much regret.

"How many sugars?" May asked. She looked at the dishrack. The dust had been kept off of it because of Anna, but she rinsed three cups and then a pot for good measure.

"Two, please," Sue said.

"Four," Kitty muttered.

"Any cinnamon?"

They said no in their own little ways. May could see their reflections in the window just above the kitchen sink. There weren't any others to see, memories to think about looking through there. None of her, Ben, and Peter, or her and Peter. After moving, he had still seemed to always be on the move, never home for long. They barely ate together even, she had been working so much. She had been so proud of him, her little boy all grown up, working, getting out of his shell, making friends…

Getting shot at. Almost killed. Jumping into fires. Fighting monsters, evading arrest. Risking his life. Being the star of a movie. Missing school and saving people – pretty girl people. Ben would have been _so_ proud of him.

Outside, another car pulled up to the house. Sue had parked in front, and it parked across the street while the space in the driveway remained empty. Sleek, black, shiny, and suspicious – May had an eye for official looking vehicles. She watched movies and, for some reason, the government saw no reason to stand apart from them.

She filled the pot with water and put it on the stove, then took another glass to rinse. The doorbell rang. "Could one of you get that, please?" she asked, not looking up.

Kitty chose to answer the door, hopping out of her chair with an awkward, jittery noise and fast walking to the door. Seconds later and May didn't hear anything. Then Sue got up.

May heard whispering next. _"Where is he?"_

That was something she wanted to know herself. She went to the hallway to see someone she _did_ recognize. Nicholas Fury. The man had been on the news so much, who wouldn't know him by eyepatch alone? It said a lot about not just the women in Peter Parker's life that they glared at the Director of SHIELD, but that the Director of SHIELD stood calmly in the face of them. One of the world's most powerful people, a woman who could create invisible constructs at any size; one of the world's deadliest mutants, a girl who couldn't be held back by anyone or anything; and one of the world's most desperate mothers, who had disowned her only son.

"Mrs. Parker," Nick Fury said, hands behind his back. He nodded politely. "I have a proposition for you. All of you."

* * *

 _A/N: The plot thickens. Or does it? I don't know._


	16. Backwardly Therapeutic Part 4

**Only in Houston**

 **Chapter 16**

 **Only in Queens.**

* * *

"Did you do your homework?"

Peter blinked twice before deciding it was better to continue trying to go back to sleep. 5pm on a weekday, this was going to be the limit of his free time.

"Peter. Homework?"

" _Yes_ , I did my homework," he groaned. Mary Jane laughed. "What are you, my mom?"

"That's one word for it," she said. Sitting on the floor by his bed was one look for her. Peter peered over the edge to see her digging into his backpack, a raggedy old thing that he didn't remember using so much, but there were a lot of things he didn't remember. Learning how to dance, how many licks it took to get to the center of a tootsie-pop, Harry Osborn and Gwen Stacey dying… he learned to live with it.

"If you're looking for my drug money, I keep that where I keep all of my valuables," he said, watching her sift past his mask to pull out his costume.

She gave it a sniff, grimaced, and threw it to the side. "You mean your porn?"

"Yes. Porn. Because I have porn. _Lots_ and lots of porn. Like any other well-adjusted teenaged guy."

MJ didn't need to look at him to tell he was lying. He was as bad at lying as he was at dealing drugs. Fortunately, he'd gotten powers better suited to stop drug dealing, instead of ones that prevented lying. She pulled out his webshooters next and gave each of them a little shake. "Did you make any new webfluid yet?"

"…yes?"

"Is that a question?"

"Are you my wife or my mother?"

"I'm your ex," MJ said, looking up at him with a beatific smile that made him question whether or not she was really his ex. "And I really don't want you to die. So refill your webshooters, cowboy."

Peter waited until after she put the webshooters down and was starting to go through his notebooks. The homework was done, their teacher for homeroom hadn't taken it when he finished it in class… she didn't like Peter very much. She didn't like anyone. "Oh. Thanks, mom-wife," he said, and grinned when MJ stopped and glared at him. "I'd rather you not- you know, too."

"Peter Parker, don't flirt with me when I'm doing a wellness check."

"I can flirt a lot worse than that, you know that- but is that what we're doing? Because I could have sworn you were scouring jealously for something."

MJ snorted, but smirked. She laid all of his naughty toys on the bed – the sticky-stuff dispensers, and the gimp suit that showed off his moose-knuckle. Out of everything in his life, Peter supposed him being a borderline exhibitionist of an acrobatic vigilante was among the most mundane, considering. "Flattery of oneself is a common sign of either self-deprecation, which is only healthy in small doses, or a sign of narcissism, which isn't healthy at all," she said, and poked him in the stomach. "Which one is it, Parker?"

Peter considered it. "Gonna have to go with narcissism," he said. "Because I _love_ myself."

"Maybe I should get you and you a room, then."

"Maybe. Or, maybe, since we have this room to ourselves we could, I dunno, do whatever it is exes do?"

He grabbed her wrist and she rolled her eyes, smiling as she put a webshooter to his chest. "Bang," she said. "Refill these. I don't want you complaining about running out again."

"But… I like complaining," Peter sniffed.

MJ stood up, taking his suit with her as she left the room. "I like you too, Complaining," she said. "No matter how narcissistic you are. Even better when you don't stink." She made a show of holding the costume away from her face. "Oof."

"Dry clean only!" Peter shouted after her.

"I sew it for you every _week,_ I know how to wash it."

Snickering to himself, Peter put his head back to the bed and closed his eyes. Needed to get some shuteye before his nightly patrol. Homework done, costume would be finished in an hour or so because MJ was a stickler for cleanliness, and Aunt May would be back just in time for him to miss dinner, so there was just enough time to… He opened his eyes to find blue ones staring at him. He groaned, making sure the pain in his voice was audible and melodramatic.

She had just gotten out of the shower. And she was standing in his room. Not naked, but almost. Blonde hair long enough to 'tastefully' cover her nipples the barest bit, and a towel hanging low at her rounded hips to expose skin and the pearls of water on it. She blinked owlishly at him, pretty sapphire blue eyes boring into him from only a couple of inches away from his face. Peter blinked slowly. "Hey, Gwen…"

"Sup, bestie," she said.

As he leaned back into his pillows, she leaned forward. Gravity pulled her hair off her breasts and he could see everything. Her skin had gotten far paler since she stopped going to school – and going to school when most people remembered her being dead was kind of difficult. Fun for the first week, but annoying afterward. So much staring, whispering.

"Nothing much. Enjoy your shower?" he asked. She nodded. "Good, good… you uh… wanna do something, or…?"

She quirked an eyebrow and gave him a look. "Parker, are you coming onto me?"

Something about having visited Gwen Stacey's gravestone with her next to him had made Peter realize that life was too short to be bothered by the little things. Sure, he was trying to sleep before going out for a night on the town as Spider-Man. Sure, his best friends had died, one killed by his own father and the other one by a spaghetti monster before coming back from the dead. And sure, he didn't remember either happening. Sure, his supposed-to-be-dead friend was naked in his room, tits out and within tongue-kissing distance. Sure.

"I mean- you're the one who's naked," Peter managed to say.

Gwen looked down at herself. "Huh. Would you look at that," she said, swiping at the water at her skin. " _Dripping_ wet, too."

She turned and closed his bedroom door. The towel dropped. He wondered if MJ's stickler-ism had rubbed off on Gwen, because she was… maintained. Peter mouthed words he couldn't hear as he looked at the plump mound of her crotch, the almost laughably cute tuft of golden hair on top of her pussy. " _Jesus flipping Christ."_

"Really? _That's_ what you call me when you jerk off?" she said, boldly clearing the distance between the door and his bed in three steps. She was on his bed in the fourth, and in place of the fifth she turned and plopped down on his chest. Peter spread his legs just in time and she took that as invitation to start pulling down his sweatpants. "I'm hurt, dude. You know I'm not going to judge you for calling MJ 'mommy', but I want a better name than Heyflippingzeus."

"You're gonna have to fill out form-1610-B for that," Peter remarked, a voice in his head telling him to not let her have her way with him because she didn't deserve it, not with that attitude. That he should come to Massachusetts instead, see if there were any cute Asian girls there. Peter ignored that voice. "After a period of one to three weeks, you should receive your new name in the mail."

Gwen snickered and bounced her plump, pale, bare ass on his chest backwards until it reached his face. "Forget I said anything, geek," she said, fishing into his pants and pulling out the fat slab of meat between his legs with a heavy _flop._

He was hard already, the sight of her dripping, and wet, and in a towel, and then sitting on his face being enough to do that. She didn't seem surprised for some reason, and ground her pussy against his face as Peter gripped her thighs in his hands. She nibbled her lip as he ran his tongue in a wide swath across her snatch and inner thighs. His cock hit her in the face and she breathed in deeply – she'd gotten the shower first, and he'd patrolled the night before, so her face was full of the heavy, musky scent dick. Her tongue fell out of her mouth and drooled a steady stream of spit on top of his pisslit before she gave it a little lick.

"So, hey," she said, conversationally sticking his dick in her mouth and brushing her teeth with it. Peter laughed beneath her – it tickled. "You do your homework yet?"

She felt his tongue stop short of punching up inside her – bad timing on her part – and brought her ass down on his face again, soundly, to make sure it continued its journey. Peter Parker's tongue bullied past the tight walls of Gwen Stacey's little cunt and that was just fine by her. " _Mm nph dphng yphf hmphwrk fr yph, Gwmph,"_ he said.

To Gwen it sounded like he'd be happy to do her homework for her. "Oh, you will? Thanks, bestie. I'd do it, but… I think I'm going to be sick." She cupped his heavy balls gingerly, rolling them around in her hand as she started to descend his cock down her mouth. Or up. "Overeating. Bad for a girl's diet I know, but you know bad habits are the hardest to break."

The door opened. MJ stood with her hand on the knob, a lot like Gwen, really. She looked annoyed. "Really? You couldn't wait _five minutes_ until I got back?"

Peter threw his hands into the air and Gwen shuddered at the vibrations that shot up her pussy and into her brain. " _Dmph lmphk aph mmph!"_ He shouted.

"Not _you_ ," MJ said. " _Gwen._ I expected better from you."

Gwen paused mid-lick, her tongue still curled around his fat cock two or three times. It moved and Peter softly bucked his hips against it like an invisible pussy. MJ looked at the action with reddening cheeks. Gwen shrugged despite it all. "Whaaryou, mahmom?"

MJ rolled her eyes and got on the bed too. "Well, by democratic vote…" she said, and opened her mouth. Her tongue ran against Gwen's and in the spots it didn't reach, far shorter than the blonde's, but more mobile because it wasn't wrapped around an erect penis. She supposed it was like they were kissing – over Peter's cock. Except Gwen's was wrapped around it like a fleshlight and she was busy pushing back her hair so she could suckle on his balls. "Salty…" she muttered. "Did you shower yet?"

She looked up at him from between his legs, while he was between Gwen's – Gwen herself raising just enough that MJ could see his face being used like a throne. 'Queening' was what Gwen had called it, as if Peter needed a word to have either of their asses on his face. He grunted. " _Nphmph, mmomn!"_

"Fuck… have him say that again," Gwen whispered. Her tongue retracted like a tape measure, leaving a strand of viscous saliva in its wake and splattering MJ with its mess. MJ could see she was busy trying to hump her ex-boyfriend's face for all either of them was worth, while his cock was twitching out in the open, eclipsing her face and drooling against the blonde's lips. She took a little jaded pleasure in nibbling the fat vein on the underside, just to feel his cock quake against her and the simmering, relaxing heat bubble up from her crotch.

"I don't know what he said," she lied. Peter had called her 'mom' and for that she was slathering his fat nuts with her tongue even though he hadn't showered, and Gwen was the one benefiting from it. Out of the three of them, she had to be the kindest. Not that it was any sort of competition, though between the guy who saved people's lives, his ex-girlfriend who sucked his nuts, and the lazy blonde shut-in who'd rather suck his dick instead of going to school, MJ had to at least be second on the list.

She could feel the heat well up in her core, manifesting as a hot, creeping feeling that left her panties feeling damp. But, being the kindest of them, she didn't address it, instead choosing to sway her hips side to side, slightly. Gwen got the message.

"Hey, Parker, you're missing a bit of a show here," she said, taking both of her hands to pump his prick with slow, heavy movements timed to the sliding of her asscheeks on his face. "I think… I think it's like, a mating call, or something? What's it called when a girl sways her ass while sucking your nuts?"

Kindness, is what MJ would have said if her tongue wasn't weighed down by his pulsing cumsack. "Down in front!" is what Peter would have said if his face wasn't pressed into the bed by Gwen's ass. As Gwen started playing around with her panties, riding high while her jeans started riding low against her ass, MJ wondered something. "Can he breathe?" she asked.

Gwen sucked her teeth, sounding not altogether there. She fiddled with the thin line of MJ's thong some more, tugging hard enough for MJ to feel it and for the blonde to feel jealous. "I didn't know these were on sale… huh?"

MJ rolled her eyes to the back of her head for what felt like the hundredth time, closing them as she pressed her lips to Peter's freely flowing cocktip, though at least half of it was the other girl's spit. There were a number of ways for Peter to respond to that. A thank you would have been nice, but salty appreciation in the form of a gooey shot of his precum on her tongue was what she got. The stuff she put up with, honestly…

"I said: 'Can he breathe'?"

"…Sure he can," Gwen said, after a moment. She retired to MJ's left, stretching out and splaying her arms like a cat. She arched her back, folded her arms, and laid on her stomach while Peter tucked into her from behind. As MJ sucked dedicatedly on his cock, hollowing her cheeks and showering his crown with spit before dragging it down to his balls, leaving his coated prick throbbing hotly in the air, Gwen languidly stroked in the aftermath of her slop, barely moving her head to let her long, long pink tongue slide just as lazily along the congruous vein on the front of the vigilante's shaft.

That was the tag-in, MJ supposed. She popped one of Peter's nuts out of her mouth, only to replace it with the other in a soft, double-tap of a kiss before she stopped for a moment to catch her breath, wipe her mouth, and to give Gwen her best skeptical look – it was good to get practice on it if she was going to be an investigative reporter. "Uh-huh. Peter? Are you conscious?"

Gwen laughed stupidly, biting her lip. She arched her back even more, popping her pale butt further into the air. "Heh. Heheh… oh, yeah, he's alive…"

MJ cocked her head at the sight. "But is he conscious?" she asked, then smiled a little, seeing him give a thumbs up.

"He'd have to be to- _ohhhkaaayy…"_ Gwen's eyes opened wide, and then turned half-lidded. A low, pleased, growling moan crawled its way from the back of her throat, which she promptly speared with his spitslicked fuckstick as if her throat was made for him to do that. MJ thought she could almost feel the vibrations travel from her, to Peter's body, to her hands as they caressed his balls. As she put one back in her mouth, she found that she could.

Gwen closed her eyes and smiled, feeling his shaft sit, constricted and choked, in her throat until her natural need for breathing attempted to force her to regurgitate it. She fought against long enough to bring her pink, pillowy lips to the top of his balls, close enough for her nose to touch MJ's as rested them against her face, feeling the heated pulses radiate from them.

The blonde pulled up and the strands of spit and precum, if not cum that Peter utterly dropped in the other girl's stomach, that had lubed her mouth dropped onto MJ's face after dangling precariously from her lips.

"Save some of that effort for my… homework and not… my ass, dude. I know you're hungry, but come on…" Gwen said as, MJ assumed, her ex had his tongue up his bestie's, and her own partner in weirdness's, asshole.

"You're doing your _own_ homework," she commented lazily, but it was like she wasn't even there. "And _you're_ not kissing me with that mouth," she said with a roll of her eyes – mostly to his balls – and gave his muscled thigh a light slap.

Gwen leaned forward a little – enough for MJ to hear the sharp _"Fwah!"_ as Peter sucked in air, a noise that was quickly muffled – she imagined it was because Gwen grabbed his scalp and eased him back inbetween her asscheeks. It's what she would have done, but even if the other girl hadn't, she used that mental image to sway her hips to, humping nothing but the air and her jeans as Gwen taunted.

"Ha, guess you don't kiss your mother with that mouth."

The taunts turned to giggles, which became quieter gasps, and MJ knew she was close to cumming. She always came quietly, happily, and more from her ass than not, and always from Peter. MJ would watch sometimes, seeing the other girl shivering, her body then going still, her tongue lolled out of her mouth and her eyes heavy, and…

Yep, there it was. " _Mmnngh… nngh… mn,"_ Gwen cooed on her queening throne, riding out the rimjob orgasm with the pale, plump globes of her ass tightening and jiggling on Peter's face. " _Fuuuucckk_ … _hmmn_ … o-okay. That's… a double plus, Parker. Good… hustle. Guess I gotta do my own homework now…"

It was going to be MJ's turn soon. Maybe. Just as soon as Peter extricated his tongue out of Gwen's hole and shoved it up hers. In the meantime, she busied herself with watching, waiting with her face to his nuts, but Gwen got her attention by knocking her noggin with fat dick. "Knock knock." MJ looked up and Gwen pushed her hair out of her eyes. Teamwork made the weird bestie, ex, and friend sandwich dream work, apparently. "You're supposed to say, 'Who's there', Red."

MJ knew who was there. A few gagillion sperm stewing at the bottom of her ex's testicles, destined to go into one of their bellies. Her tastebuds and stomach didn't much care for the idea, but she was looking forward to it. "Who's there?" she asked, a little amused, snaking her tongue down to his perineum, and then lower. Peter seized up, flailed, and finally managed to tap-tap on her head.

Gwen laughed, peering over his prick as though it were a wall, watching the top of the redhead's scarlet hair rise as she trailed her tongue back up. "Peter," she said, giggling at the joke in her head.

MJ rolled her eyes. ' _Here we go_ ,' she thought. "Peter who?"

"Peter, Petter close your eyes and open your mouth so I can give you something."

"That was awful."

" _Yeph, iph phas kndph oph awphfph."_

"Both of you shut up and stick out your tongues," Gwen ordered, hopping and slamming her ass on Peter's face.

MJ opened her mouth wide and let her tongue peek out, and going from the small, enthused _"Ohh… there we go…"_ gasp that Gwen let out, Peter did too. She expected the slab of cock resting on her forehead and getting two girl's worth of drool in her hair. Not a tongue.

She opened it to find Gwen's slithering tongue wrapped around Peter's cock and thrusting in and out of her mouth. Her tongue wasn't sure what to do with it, but it recognized the taste. Peter's precum was salty, and thick, and tasted fairly oily even on another girl's tongue. Which wasn't something she was familiar with, but when it was pushing it down her throat, or up inside of her, MJ made whatever concessions she needed to.

The sound of Gwen's tongue was a lot like the sound a cock had to make if it were churning in some place wet. MJ supposed – none of them had had sex yet, with each other or anyone else – but some sounds just belonged to certain things. And, the wet, slick, messy noise of Gwen's tongue choking Peter's cock, him groaning into her asscheeks, and the " _Glurgh, glurk, mmgh! Hnghk!"_ noise choking past the sixty revolutions per minute Gwen's tongue was making around her tonsils as it bullied her uvula, belonged to just that: a long tongue using her throat like the throat-turned-pussy that had been milking her ex's dick right in front of her eyes. A symphony set to the theme of the two dicksucking amigos and their good pal – but not boyfriend – Dick.

Gwen held her cheek with one hand and used the other to aim Peter's cock right at her face. MJ could see his cumslit was wide and ready to shoot. She held her hands to his balls and felt them pulse, and knew he was about to. She could smell it. "Open wide," Gwen said, retracting her tongue.

MJ did immediately, feeling like she was on the lowest part of the floor and totem pole instead of riding her imminent cum as high as she was, and not minding that at all. The first volley was like Peter was jizzing magma on her face. Hot, thick nutslime that lanced her forehead and landed in her hair. The second hit her in her closed eye so quickly it climbed with a heavy _splat_ up to rest on her eyebrow. The third marked her freckles, while the fourth, fifth, and sixth hit her lower lip, chin, and neckline. She was almost sure Gwen was just hosing her down when she felt the rest torpedo in her mouth with force.

Over the sound of it hitting her tongue, ropes and ropes of Peter's fat, oily ballsnot splashing in her mouth, rolling down into the reservoir of cum that her stomach was becoming, she could barely hear him let out appreciative moans into Gwen's ass while she muttered, "Fuck, yeah… eat that ass, dude… You like it just as much as I do, don't you?"

But she was looking at MJ while she did, smirking triumphantly at her. As the rest of his cum petered out – MJ found herself smiling a little dazedly at the word, gingerly suckling at the tip of his cock with her swollen lips. She shook a little, feeling herself cum in her jeans just as Gwen's tongue started to lap up the cum on her face as she realized something.

She _did_ like it.

* * *

After all that had happened to them, Peter supposed this was the best possible outcome. As if there could have been any other – and he knew there could have. But he was glad there hadn't been. Gwen dying, Harry dying, everyone just… getting hurt, _dying_ , like he couldn't save anyone no matter how hard he tried.

MJ getting abducted by his very own insane _clone_ , and him having, apparently, snapped, only to get nuked on his lawn by Fury and his Spider-slayers the night it happened. Gwen coming back from the dead, Aunt May having a heart attack because of it, her knowing his secret identity. Apparently he'd told her, but that was the funny thing about getting nuked by SHIELD's ordinance tailored just for Spider-Man – it left you with one hell of a case of amnesia. And Peter was grateful, because those were things he wasn't sure he wanted to remember.

When all was said and done, he and Gwen and MJ had gotten out of the hospital. The _Baxter Building's_ very own hospital. He knew the Fantastic Four and was a friend of theirs, evidently – and he'd also dated one of the X-Men. The girl one. One of them – the pretty one with the brown hair that could walk through walls. And if _that_ hadn't been the most awkward breakup ever. Because having to break up with the girlfriend you didn't remember having, _because you don't remember her_ , was in a class on its own.

The why of it all had been revealed. Gwen… was Gwen, but she wasn't. The monster that killed her had become her. A red spaghetti monster that Peter had never seen and had only told MJ of after Gwen died, before he lost his memory, was Gwen Stacey. All the big brains said it was her –Sue Storm, Reed Richards, Tony Stark… _Jean Grey_.

Perks of being friends with Johnny Storm and the F4 and having an in with the X-Men, Peter supposed, but even without them, at the end of the day, in every way that mattered she was the same. The way she smelled, looked, acted, sounded, Gwen was Gwen – save for the really long tongue. Only Gwendolyn Stacey would come up with the idea of, "Let's go see my gravestone today. I want to say hi to my Dad and me."

MJ, meanwhile, had been experimented on by his clone. Peter was told she had been transformed, and MJ said he'd been there to stop her. That she'd been so _angry,_ afraid, but with him there she felt safe and that he'd brought her back from the brink… Peter didn't remember that.

 _Jean Grey_ said that the amnesia had his mind all 'spotty', but that was the limit of it. It made his skin crawl having her look into his head like that, but if anyone knew what was going on in his head, a friggin' _telepath_ did. But maybe Jean Grey, no italics, wasn't so bad after all.

And him, Peter Parker? He'd been chomped on by a _vampire_ which, out of the three, was the least weird sounding _._ Sue Storm that had told him that for the days leading up to the entire… clone thing, he'd been coming to her, to the F4, to make sure he didn't turn into Nosferatu. They'd been doing blood work to make sure he was healthy and he was only in the hospital just to make sure that he still was, because if there were any records of teenagers being bitten by genetically altered spiders, and then vampires, the Fantastic Four's brightest minds hadn't heard of it.

It was an odd list. Gwen was there to make sure she didn't turn into _The Thing_ and consume biomass _–_ and Ben Grimm took issue with sharing the same name as that. MJ was there to make sure she didn't turn back into a furry – or so Johnny said, and… Peter to make sure he was, in Sue's words, "Alright."

All things considered, he _was_ alright. Better than, even. Because even though the government had chosen him as the person to base their cloning experiments on, with one having been brainwashed into thinking it was his _father_ , the other having had experimented on his girlfriend turned ex-girlfriend (at some point), and god knowing how many others were out in the world while the rest were _dead,_ killed by Otto Octavius- _and_ his aunt now knowing his secret identity and not kicking him out for it- He was _fine_. Better than he was before the gap in his memory occurred.

And maybe he needed some kind of therapy to work through it all. Maybe not, since the backwards therapy he, Gwen, and MJ were giving each other seemed to work just fine. So toweling off after spending three-time together was just another day for your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.

Although, for his sanity and privacy's sake, he chose not to tell anyone that he dreamt about being homeless and going across the country on foot, or doing that, but while having a vagina and masturbating in motel rooms as well.

That was just weird.

* * *

MJ felt a towel whipcrack against her ass before it hit her in the face with a wet smack. "Heads up," Gwen said.

MJ gave her a dirty look made dirtier and slimier, because she hadn't licked the cooling jizz off her face. She dabbed it from her eyebrows and eyelids, and then her collar, having learned that wiping only had it smear because it was so oily and thick. Also, that she preferred it hot and fresh from the source, not cold. That was something her stomach just couldn't handle yet.

Peter let out a dramatic death knell from the bed as Gwen plopped down next to him and bent over, seesawing the towel she had originally between her legs and asscheeks. "You know, all things considered, you look gross doing that," he said, turning to watch instead of looking away.

"Yeah, whatever. You weren't saying that with your tongue up my butt."

"I don't think I would have been able to if you were doing that."

"You're welcome."

"I couldn't have said that either, but now that you mention it-" She hit him in the face with the wet towel. He blinked. "Ow."

Finished, Gwen threw the towel aside, as if it were her room. It might as well have been she spent so much time in it. She put her feet on top of his and burped. "Mmn. I'm hungry. You guys hungry?"

MJ held her hand to her stomach, feeling the seed inside cool and gurgle. She pressed down to keep it down and to remind her misused digestive organ that she liked the feeling, even if it didn't. "I'm good," she said.

Peter felt his balls ache slightly, but other than that he was fine. His mouth tasted like fruity bodywash – Gwen's ass and pussy, he supposed. His stomach wasn't full, but his appetite had been sated for the time being. "Ditto."

Gwen looked at the both of them smugly, like she won some kind of contest. "Yeah, you two ate a lot, didn't yo- hey!" she ducked just in time to avoid – and catch – the towel MJ threw her way. Peter waited until after she did to push her off the bed. "You _dick_!"

He lazily gestured to the free space on the bed. MJ held his hand and climbed over him, like Cinderella into her carriage. _"_ Milady _."_

"Why thank you, my…" she frowned. "Did you wash your mask?"

Peter blinked. "That's not my name, and it's a bit of a mouthful."

"She can handle a mouthful!" Gwen said. Peter looked over the other side of her bed to see her tonguing his semen off the towel. How he ended up with two girls with a predisposition to his sperm, he didn't know. He wasn't dumb enough to complain.

MJ flicked her in the back of the head without looking, keeping her attention on him. Her ex, who she had just finished performing invasive oral-sex on. Yeah, he had a lot of things to be grateful for. "Your mask," she said again, "You know it gets really stinky, right?"

"I think I do. I'm the one wearing it."

"And I'm the one that repairs it because you're too lazy to do it. And you forget to wash it and complain later."

Peter whistled and looked anywhere but her. Gwen was a sight he didn't mind, even if she was eating his cum like a snack. "Well, when all you have is a really pretty, amazing girl who sews and does your laundry, the entire world looks like bad fabric?"

MJ couldn't help but smile. "Nice save. So, did you wash your mask?"

"I… was planning to do it."

"You mean planning to ask me to do it."

" _No-_ MJ, you know me – I don't plan _anything_."

She rolled her eyes again and fell against him. Peter let out an "Oof," and moved to kiss her. She stopped him with her finger to his lips. "Bear in mind that you just got finished eating another girl's _butt_ and I just got through swallowing your semen," she said, closing her eyes for a brief nap. "At least _one_ of us needs to brush our teeth first."

"Did you bring your toothbrush?" She opened her eyes and glared at him. Peter grinned. "Just asking for a friend. Whose name is me- I'm my friend."

"I will smack you, Peter Benjamin Parker."

"And I'm going to puke all over the both of you," Gwen said, draping herself over the both of them. She used his crotch as a pillow and nuzzled her cheek with his cock. " _Bleh,_ you two disgust me."

"Excuse me? Girl who just licked cum off my face says what?"

"Yes, says girl who just got her fantastic butt eaten says, 'It was very salty'," Gwen replied. "…His cum, not- shut up." She reached over to the drawer Peter kept by his bed and pulled out her phone, and then pulled out his cock from his boxers. Luckily he hadn't pulled up his pants yet or she may have had a difficult time.

"When did you put your phone in there?" he asked, instead of asking why she was sucking his cock again. Because why would he ever do that.

"While you were swabbing my poopdeck," Gwen said, thwapping his cock against her tongue and grinning at the look on his face. Her tongue peeked out of her mouth normally, and the started to lengthen as she unlocked her phone and started to go through it. "Speaking of – you think I could-"

Peter didn't even let her finish. "No."

"But I let you do it all the time-"

"Let?" MJ chimed in, on her own phone now. Peter leaned back against the headboard and peered over her head as she pulled up the Youtube app. "That's a funny word for, ' _Yeah dude, eat that ass, I know you like it too_ …' Don't you think?" she laughed, her voice lowering into a bad imitation of Gwen's raspier, huskier tone.

"I think so," Peter said.

Gwen turned a little pink. Peter saw it in her asscheeks first, and then everywhere else. "Shut up. I'm just saying, you have a prostate, so-"

" _No."_

Gwen pouted. "God, you suck."

"So do you," he said, and MJ smirked. "Sucks to suck."

They stayed like that for a few minutes. Not in perfect silence, Gwen made an absent habit of drooling spit on his cock and slapping it against her lips until it got hard, and sucked on it as her pastime while she looked up articles online. MJ was in his hand rather than his arms, softly gyrating against his palm while Peter groped her pussy through her jeans as she watched videos online. He was just enjoying life.

Gwen let out a little chuckle and held the phone to him. "Heh. Surfing the web," she said, letting his cock fall out of her mouth and rest on her face. It was Peter's turn to roll his eyes. "You gonna cum?" she asked. He thought about it, figured he could if given the time, and nodded.

"Good. Mouth. Hungry. Now," she said. Peter used his free hand to shrug listlessly, telling her in no uncertain terms that she'd have to work for it, as well as giving her free reign to do just that.

She started to slow-fuck her mouth with his dick and it was always… different than MJ's, considering her tongue and the fact that her throat was a moving, undulating, almost alive thing that mostly seemed to exist to coax the cum out of the very bottom of his balls and down her throat. But if Gwen wasn't going to complain about that, he wouldn't either.

She'd worked her way down to his balls, smearing his pubic hair in their combined slop, her tongue flopping out to lap at them, around his shaft, and beyond until Peter stopped it. Meanwhile, like it wasn't even happening, she was also sifting through news articles, blogposts, and twitter feeds. MJ was watching news online since, with publications like the Bugle, they all knew not to trust just one source of news. And Peter closed his eyes, let out a low groan, and flushed another load of near-congealed nut into his bestie's fleshy throat while his ex softly and quietly squirmed against the _second_ orgasm she'd had in her jeans that day, in her jeans.

He could hear Gwen swallow, and swallow, and gulp. Peter was sure she was trying to swallow his cock whole, even though she already had. Her tonsils and uvula were slick with his cum and some had spurt out of her mouth to splatter against the hard muscle of his pelvic wall, but they bullied him for more, and so he gave it.

Before long she'd worked out another one from him, sucked him soft, and slowly pulled off with a long, wet, sliding sound and a satisfied burp that came afterward. " _Urp._ Thanks, dude."

"Don't… mention it."

"Hm," MJ muttered, mostly to herself, and mostly indifferent if not entirely comfortable with Peter feeding the blonde his fluids. "Huh… They finally named Ezekiel Simm's next of kin." She looked at the two of them expectantly; Gwen hiccupped and Peter just swayed, the latter cum-dry and the former cumdrunk. "Ezekiel Simms? Well known philanthropist? Millionaire? Queens-born globetrotter?"

"Oh yeah, him," Peter said, waving his hand.

"From the- the thing, right?" Gwen said, knocking at her ear. MJ half expected cum to fly out instead of water.

"Yeah. Love that guy, salt of the earth."

She sighed. "His next of kin is his adopted daughter. Cindy Moon." Gwen licked her teeth clean. For a moment, they were sharp and dangerous looking – as dangerous as they could be, coated in off-white and chunky jizz – but after closing her mouth and opening to yawn, they were normal. She prodded her cheek with her tongue at Peter, and he shook his head, causing her to shrug. That was all the reaction MJ got out of them. "Our _classmate_ for homeroom freshman year? Really? _Nothing_?"

"The one who always stared at the back of your head," Gwen said, burping again. "Asian chick, short, quiet, real down in the dumps look on her. Kind of like you back then."

"Kind of like then back who?" Peter asked, in a daze.

MJ threw her hands in the air. "Sometimes I forget I'm the only one out of us that keeps up with our classmates."

"In my defense, I'm dead – and I still remember hearing she was a mutant, so there," Gwen said factually. "But we still appreciate you immensely, Cronkite."

After a couple of minutes of scrolling on her phone, Gwen suddenly paused. She looked at it, blinked rapidly, and then up at Peter. And then at his cock. He wondered if she wanted more to 'eat' as she picked it up and started looking around it. "I think you've shaked me down for all I got for a bit," he said.

"Pft, no I haven't," she remarked, and looked back at her phone. Then at him. "Hey Pete, in the last- oh I dunno, sixteen, seventeen hours… have you been to Houston?"

"What?"

MJ sat up suddenly. "Houston, Texas?" she asked. Gwen nodded. They both looked at each other, and then at him.

"I was getting a haircut yesterday," Peter said, pointing at his newly trimmed hair, shaved to an almost buzz at the sides. "Someone kept calling me roundhead Spider-Man."

"Oh yeah," Gwen laughed. "It was true. Well, here you go."

They held their phones to him. On MJ's, he saw a Houston news broadcast. There was a fire brimming in the background of a video, and a pile of… something on the ground, smouldering there. Broken concrete and glass, and the raucous cheering and noise of a crowd. Flashing lights. It almost seemed like some kind of red carpet party, but a good chunk of the video was heavily mosaicked, to the point that it might as well not have been there.

On Gwen's, he saw the headline. _'HOUSTON'S VERY OWN SPIDER-COUPLE SAVES HOSPITAL, WANTED FOR INDECENT EXPOSURE'._

Peter blinked. "Spider… _what_?"

MJ clicked a link on the article – which _couldn't_ have been from an official publication since it took them to a _porn_ site. She started playing the video, which was aptly called, _'Houston Spider-Man whoops Human Torch's ass, action is his reward'._ Peter wasn't sure what to expect from a title like that save for some complaining from Johnny if he got wind of it. What followed was the tail end of a quick, vicious, savage beating of a man on fire. He ended up cocooned in a smoldering sack of webbing, and he saw…

"Is that- _me_?"

"Either you or a really bad cosplayer, but the dick definitely looks like yours. Not sure about the girl, though."

"You could tell?"

"Oh yeah. You don't have a vagina. But you look a lot taller here," Gwen said, moving so she could watch the video with them.

"Why are you wearing a hoodie?" MJ asked, looking at him.

If he hadn't already dusted his balls, Peter knew he would have probably started to panic. As was the customary reaction to seeing himself… get the crotch of his suit ripped off by a girl on her knees, in front of a crowd, in a city he'd never been in. "I'm not wearing anything."

"I'm just saying. It's _Houston._ Who wears hoodies in Houston? Queens I get, but- _oh_." She looked back to the screen and put her hands to her mouth as the crowd gasped, and the dick on the screen came out.

The camera zoomed in and the cameraman cheered, hollering, _"Get it, Spidey!"_

Peter blanched. "…Oh God."

"Look at her _swallow_ that thing," Gwen whispered. "I thought I was the only one who could do that… Whoa, look at that…" she whispered, and they watched the money-shot lance the girl in the picture, who was on her knees and pressing her body against the… other Peter's legs in apparent ecstasy.

The camera man started to cheer, " _Spider-Man saved my family!"_ again and again, and Peter rubbed his rapidly tiring eyes. "Okay, now really isn't the time for that."

"I don't think I've ever seen a girl so happy to get cum down her throat before and- _wow._ "

The girl was dressed down in a red spandex that left no part of her body to the imagination, specifically how her asscrack looked clad in skintight red fabric, and though the camera came from the back, they could clearly see her furiously rubbing down her pussy as if it was on fire. The camera man shouted, " _Yeah, Spidey_ doused _that shit too, didn't he?! Whoo!"_ Peter felt himself choke, but the girl on screen didn't. She just swallowed, and swallowed, and licked her face clean.

Gwen tilted her head. "You know, I could diss her for going outside in a suit that small with a butt that big, but she has a nice, fat butt and I'm humble enough to admit that."

The two participants seemed to say something to each other that Peter couldn't hear over the video. Then they were gone. Not being one to look at his own press if he could help it, Peter had never known what it looked like when he leapt out of sight of cameras, much less with his hard dick gripped between his legs with a girl wrapping her legs around him, humping it. But as the video ended, he did now.

All three of them shared a look. MJ was the first to speak. "So… _Houston_."

Peter groaned. "We have a problem."

Gwen snatched the phone out of MJ's hands. "I'll say. Where's the friggin' download button on this thing?"

* * *

 _A/N: So that happened._ _100 review special._


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